


All Good Things Must Come To An End

by crustybaguettes



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Genderswap, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, ringo is a girl now lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21973771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crustybaguettes/pseuds/crustybaguettes
Summary: Robin 'Ringo' Starkey. A simple, happy girl from Dingle, Liverpool. The Beatles change that forever.----------it's just the beatles but ringo is a girl lolol
Relationships: George Harrison/Original Character(s), George Harrison/Original Female Character(s), George Harrison/Ringo Starr
Comments: 32
Kudos: 45





	1. 'pete forever, ringo never'

**Author's Note:**

> just wanted to give a few disclaimers:
> 
> 1\. I am a Child. In no way was I actually alive when the Beatles were active, not by a long shot, and there's only so many facts wikipedia can give you, so this is inaccurate and also shit. if they dont seem like ~themselves~ thats because i didnt know them lmao 
> 
> 2\. I 100% got this idea from reading Aliquis's fic, Pain is so close to pleasure, which is legit the same thing but queen where john is jane and she has ~drama~. It's high key the best fic I've ever read pls read it it's so much better than mine will ever be lolol. I also got ideas for a few scenes from just reading random shit on tumblr and on here so if you read something that seems incredibly specifically similar to something you've written, pls tell me i will credit u lol
> 
> 3\. I'm gonna be changing a few things in this on purpose because im lazy and this is entirely self indulgent so i can do whatever i please. for example im probs not gonna include a whole lot of stuff, if anything, about george's beliefs in hinduism because i feel like thats something rlly personal to him and it seems kinda weird to be like this is exactly what morals he lived by because im a teenage girl with internet access like no. also the timeline will be a bit screwed because i cbf 
> 
> 4\. NO SEX i wont write nsfw i dont care it makes me uncomfy lol, you can all use your imaginations
> 
> okay that was lowkey rude and defensive but i feel like so many ppl love the beatles and i dont want to upset anyone so with that enjoy :))

**22 August, 1962**

“Pete forever, Ringo never. Pete forever, Ringo never. Pete forever, Ringo never. Pete forever, Ringo never. Pete forever…”  
The chant droned on and on in Robin’s ears, the Cavern Club’s compact walls acting as a one way path for the crowd’s yelling to reach her self-confidence, wearing it away little by little. No one was nearly this awake at the horticultural society’s dance (her first proper Beatles gig), let alone engaged enough to care about the music that was playing. Robin was free to tap away as she pleased and the horticulturalists were blissfully oblivious to the fact that she’d recently replaced Pete Best, a face that was handsome and recognisable enough for young girls to latch onto. Their objection to her was simply a result of infatuation and delusional imagination. Well, that’s what she told herself as she ran through the numbers in her head, drumming along to the beat on her woolen skirt and cringing everytime a tap was out of place or time. There were only so many things that could go wrong in one performance, and Robin was certain that they would all happen to her tonight.

  
“Oi Binny, yeh ready?” John’s voice echoed from around the corner. “Jesus, yeh look like yer about to throw up. Wanna bucket?” He grinned cheekily after, abusing the fact that the girl had so little energy to do anything other than stress.

  
“If I vomit, it’ll be on the back of your jacket,” she paused to stand up and pull down her skirt. If her mother was going to be upset with her when she got home, she should do her best to minimise the damage. “and I’m not payin’ for a new one. Don’t tempt me.” John slung his arm over her shoulder and walked the small girl towards the side of the stage, as if she would’ve made a run for it otherwise. Unlikely, but still possible.

  
“‘Aight posho, whatever yeh’ say.” Despite being paid more in Hamburg, Robin garnered little fearful respect from the boys and was treated just like any other Beatle (see also: ridiculed). Her Scouse accent was washed away after working as a secretary in place of secondary school, and it stuck out drastically when talking to the other boys.

  
“Ringo, yeh ‘right? Lookin’ a bit worse for wear.” Paul said, checking his watch skeptically.

  
“I think if you had a whole club verbally abusing you, you’d be a bit worried too.” Robin began to rub up and down her arms, not for warmth, but because it gave her something to do.

  
“Verbal abuse is a bit strong, don’t yeh think? They’re just excited.” She didn’t and couldn’t bother deigning John’s ridiculous reply with an answer because, as soon as George’s head popped up beside her shoulder, they were walking on.

  
Her boots had never felt so heavy on her feet and the jacket on her shoulders could’ve been made out of lead for all she knew. In a moment of true terror, she wondered if her bra was showing through her white shirt, or if her jacket was forgiving enough to withstand drumming without splitting down the back, or if she’d remembered to pin back the parts of her hair that would fall in her face half way through the set. Before she had time to book it off the stage and hide under a moth eaten couch somewhere, her bum was on the drum stool and John was counting them in.  
Subconsciously, as she was beating along to the rhythm of Some Other Guy, her eyes drifted away from angry girls staring her down to the back of George’s head. She couldn’t see his brown eyes or the fringe falling over them, or his lips drawn back to reveal his sharp canines or his fingers deftly changing between chords, but his presence on stage was enough to calm her nerves. In her Hurricane days, whenever Pete would miss shows, George would always be the one who was sent to talk Robin into playing, the older boys knowing that the two got along like a house on fire.

  
They met in Hamburg after the group had stayed around to watch her band play. John joked that George was just dying to see her drum, and the red that flushed on his cheeks only confirmed the fact. He bought her a few pints and they talked all night, cheap beer lubricating what would normally be an awkward conversation between near strangers. She even got wondering if he was gonna make a move on her, but then the pub was closing and they had to head back to the theatre. If there was one thing sure to put a damper on a blooming relationship, it was Bruno Kaschmider’s mouldy lodging rooms.

  
As she looked up from her drum-slash-George-fest and the song ended, cries of ‘we want Pete’ emerged from the audience. “Yeah?” John sarcastically replied to the protesters, before briefly turning around to face Robin. She lightly shook her head, telling the lead singer not to worry, although in her periphery she could see cogs whirring in George’s head as well. She knew that whatever they said would make things worse and she was always one to let things pass her by, not stirring up a fuss.

  
John counted them in once more and I Saw Her Standing There took off, reminding the audience of why they had come to the club in the first place. Just as the crowd was starting to back off her a bit and she could relax into the song, a large shape began hurtling towards the drum risers from the side of the stage, yelling profanities.

  
Before she knew what was happening, George and a much larger man were on the floor throwing punches. Well, it was more like one punch before a security guard pulled the intruder off and George’s face was blossoming a bruise over his right eye. Gasps and shrieks from the audience accompanied amplified static as the instruments on stage were hastily abandoned. “Oh my god, Georgie, I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have done that, I’m so so sor-”

  
“Hey, love it’s okay, we just need to get Hazza out of ‘ere, ‘right?” Paul’s arm wrapped comfortingly around her shoulders and the four were shepherded off the stage, George being supported by John’s left arm. Before Robin could even stop to think or breathe, they were out in the late summer air and then into the back of a taxi, Paul in the front seat and the boy with the black eye in the middle. He leant his head on Robin’s shoulder as his eyes blinked sleepily, her small, ringed hand running up and down his back not doing him any favours.

  
“Binny, we‘lmost there yet?” George asked, his head drooping further and further forward.

  
“Yeah, we are mate, you can’t fall asleep though mm, George?” As his neck lost support from Robin’s shoulder and dropped forward, as well as the sound of his name, the boy’s head shot straight up, hitting the back of the front seat in the process.

  
“Well, he’s definitely awake now, isn’t he?” John muttered, a tone of irritation layered in his voice. The girl knew if she replied with any poison it would only escalate unproportionately and probably give her a headache too. Eppy was the only reason he was angry, he was meant to stop shit like this from happening and he couldn’t, or didn’t, John was fuming either way. It wasn’t personal, it wasn’t her fault, she told herself.

  
The rest of the car ride was void of conversation, the silence filled with occasional murmurings from George complaining about his head and the sound of the tyres on the bitchumen. As the car pulled up to Brian’s door, the man himself stepped out into the night. He looked shaken up, and warily switched his gaze between the four of them and a burly looking bloke in uniform.

  
“Are all of you okay? I’ve hired a security guard, my tyres were slashed and I just, I’m a bit shaken up, I mean, why would someone be so angry over a drummer who wasn’t even very good? Did anything happen to you lot?” Brian pushed through his jumbled words to get to his point, and, with some prompting from Robin, George stepped from behind John to reveal his blackened eye.  
“Oh god, come inside, there should be some ice in the freezer, how did this happen, no you don’t talk, and don’t fall asleep either! Sit down here and just-”

  
“Brian, can I talk to yeh for a minute?” John said, his calm exterior a contrast to Brian’s frantic word vomit. The two headed into a seperate room closed the door, leaving Paul and Robin to sort out the half-conscious, possibly concussed guitarist.

  
“Yeh find some ice, like, I’ll make sure he stays awake. “ Paul said, sitting George down on a couch and leaning him back, the boy’s eyes falling shut before they were lighlty shaken awake again.

  
“When he starts talking he can have a sleep, it’s meant to be safe then.” Robin said with her head in a freezer, surfacing with a bag of frozen peas, followed by a tea towel from the cabinet. When she returned, George had placed his head on Paul’s lap, who was telling him a joke about two men in a bar that didn’t seem to be helping him stay conscious.

  
“Here, I’ll wrap this up and you can put it on your eye. How’re you feeling?” Robin lifted up George’s legs and positioned herself under them, gently resting the bag of peas on his face.

  
“Mm, better, still hurts like a fuckin’-” The boy’s muffled words were cut short by the sound of yelling from the room over. Robin knew John could get worked up, but she couldn’t stop herself from thinking if this particular case was her own making. After all, the man at the club was clearly running towards her, the only reason she was okay was because of George. _George_.

  
“Oi, Georgie, thank you, you really didn’t have to do that for me.” The girl played with a loose thread on the boy’s trousers, too guilty to meet his eyeline.

  
“Can’t have the prettiest one in the band getting roughed up now can we?” He joked, clearly not concussed and improving, although it definitely looked worse than how he seemed to be playing it off. Robin blushed at this comment, helping him sit up as he started reaching forward. Paul let out an exaggerated sigh, probably relieved to have George’s head off his bladder.

“Yeh callin’ me fat, Macca?” George quipped.

  
“No, just gotta pointy ‘ead is all.” The older boy replied, covering up his anxiety for John and Brian with a small smile, still keeping his eyes on the door. The argument was still continuing, but both parties had cooled off a bit. It still didn’t make the lack of conversation between the three any less uncomfortable, all worried about what was being said.

  
“Aye Binny, ‘owd ya know all that stuff about concussions?” George asked, turning his face to lean on her shoulder, noses just centimetres apart.

  
“God, Paul was right, you do have a pointy chin.” This comment earned her a pinch on the arm, but he still wasn’t settling for that answer.

  
“Well, you know, when my dad was a bit of a, you know, regular down at the pub, he’d get into some scuffles. Nothing terribly exciting, but sometimes he’d fall down and hit his head or get a bad blow. My mum would have to go ‘round to the neighbours for ice, we never had any, and I wasn’t allowed to let ‘im fall asleep until he could remember the rugby scores from the night before.” Robin had started playing with her fingers, but finished her story with a chuckle so that the boys would know she wasn’t upset. Whenever things like that came up the room always got a little bit more tense, and it never really seemed appropriate. She was over it, she could hardly remember her father and all they were were memories in the back of her head.

  
“Now I know who to call if I start making a habit of defending birds from attackers, don’t I?” George grinned at her, canines and all, just as Brian and John left the room. Both looked ready to go to bed more than anything, but Robin didn’t know how she was going to sleep after the evening’s events. It was a bit scary, knowing someone wants to hurt you, someone you don’t know. It’s worse when it’s the latter, because there’s no way for you to do anything about it.

  
“You lot should head home,” Eppy said, rubbing his hands over his eyes, “I’ll see you all tomorrow, yeah? Got practice at 3 and then we gotta go over some stuff for recording in a few weeks, sound good?” John muttered a goodbye, heading out the front door. Paul gave a proper farewell but made his exit swiftly, not wanting to be far behind his quasi-roomate. Brian headed upstairs after saying goodnight to the two left on the couch, obviously too shaken up to be of any more service to the pair.

  
George gingerly took the peas off his eye, passing the packet back to Robin. He didn’t even want to think about moving, but knew that it was the only way to get back home to his bed. He closed his eyes and sunk further down into the sofa, head lightly pounding and coaxing him into a state of sleep. Meanwhile, Robin shuffled around the kitchen around returned to a sleepy George, his head turned to the side and eyes closed. Even though the sight of his black eye made her wince, she couldn’t help but admire his face. He truly was handsome, and she felt her heart sink as she remembered him on the floor, protecting her from the attacker. One of her first real shows with The Beatles and she’d already indirectly injured one of her best friends.

  
“Up you get Harrison, we’ve got places to go, people to see.” She placed her hands in his as his eyes opened, helping lift him up onto his feet. Blinking slowly, he gave her a smile and lead her out the door, the pair strolling to the nearest bus stop. In the hazy moonlight, the quiet streets seemed like a movie set, street lamps periodically illuminating their faces as they walked in relaxed silence. Their hands were still entwined, but neither made a move to pull away and Robin’s rings felt soothing against George’s warm hands.

  
“Ringo?” The boy spoke quietly, almost afraid to tear a non-existent veil surrounding them. The girl nodded and looked up into his eyes, waiting for him to continue.

  
“Yeh know I would do it all over again, right? And if yeh think for a second tha’ this is yer fault, well, I know two other lads with some very compelling arguments to prove yeh wrong. Yer a Beatle now, we’ve gotta watch out fer each other.” He squeezed her hand tighter as he said the last sentence, pulling his hand away only to wrap it around her shoulders as they sat at the bus shelter. Her feet were left swinging off the seat and she leaned into him, happy to have a weight lifted off her shoulders.

  
“You really mean that Georgie? I mean, what’s your mum gonna say when you get home. ‘Oh it’s okay ‘cos yeh did it for yeh mates?’” Robin giggled at her own impression as George stuck his tongue out, her mood returned to it’s normal, laid back default. She gave him a kiss on the cheek as her bus pulled up to the stop, making sure to avoid the blue marks scattered on his prominent cheekbones.

  
“See yeh tomorrow, yeah?” The boy said, reluctantly letting go of her shoulder. He knew it was irrational, but there was still a chance that something bad could happen on the way home when she was by herself. You never knew who was out there, especially not after tonight.

  
“See you then, Harrison.” Robin, ignorant to his worrying, gave him one last smile before turning her back on him and handing over change to the driver as the doors slid closed.  
“Shouldn’t yeh lad be takin’ yeh home? It’s a bit late for a bird like you to be out an’ about, innit?” The driver said, making conversation with his sole passenger.

  
“Oh, well I ‘spose he’s not really my lad, just a friend.” Robin took a seat near the front as to continue her chat. Stupidly, her book still lay open on her desk at home, forgotten by past Robin rushing to get ready after waking up late, so she had nothing else for entertainment.

  
“Coulda fooled me love.” With that, she settled into her jacket for the ride home, smiling to herself at the thought of George.

\------

The four sat in a small back room at the Cavern Club, positioned in a circle. An amp sat between Robin and George, the sound magnified as it bounced off the short, curved brick roof. One might say it paid a resemblance to a sewerage pipe sans the sewerage, but for the moment it was all they needed. The group had run through I Saw Her Standing There with John’s harmonica singing over the sound of the other instruments, as well as One After 909.

  
“Got that beginnin’ still?” John mused as the song drew to a close with a drum fill and Paul’s bass solo. Robin usually tuned out of these sorts of conversations, having never fancied herself a songwriter, but the other three loved to bounce ideas off each other and improve, so she was perfectly content to sit and daydream.

  
Her return home the night before had been met with her over protective mother woken up by the sound of a creaky front door. After being reassured that nothing bad had happened and she was only late because of bus delays, Elsie Starkey could return to bed in relative peace. If there was one thing that that woman did not need to know, it was that her daughter was nearly bashed in a nightclub. Absolutely not.

  
The next morning, Robin’s alarm went off at 10 and was immediately shut off, the girl sleeping in another 2 hours before finally waking up and putting on a dark knit jumper and some jeans. Her skirt, jacket and tights were shoved into a bag as to not cause too much of a delay when leaving the house.

  
“Those clothes are so small and so tight, how could you possibly wear those things?” Her mother exclaimed the first time Robin went to play a show with The Hurricanes, only being 16 at the time. “If you’re too young to drink, then I don’t see why that clothing should be any more appropriate than handing you a bottle of gin and saying, ‘have fun!’” Elsie could be dramatic when she needed to be.

  
She was jolted back to the present by John counting in, and made a lucky guess that they were starting One After 909 again. The placement of George’s chords in the opening had slightly changed, but other than that Robin couldn’t really spot a difference in either run through. She supposed if the boys were happy then it must sound better, and continued to play as she had done before. There was something about the stability of drumming that put her mind at ease. Without a steady tempo, a band falls apart, and even if she might not be the best singer or writer, she could at least find comfort in being aware of her importance.

  
George’s eye had significantly reduced in size since the night before, but was still a worrying mottled mixture of yellow, blue and purple. He didn’t seem to be in any pain and was just as concentrating as he normally would be, yet Robin, Paul and John couldn’t seem to stop sneaking glances at the youngest as if he would collapse any second.

  
“Can yeh all stop givin’ me those looks? My face feels fine, it’s like it never ‘appened.” George sighed as the song ended.

  
“Mate, we can’t exactly act as if nothin’ happened when yer eye looks like a Christmas pudding.” Paul interjected as he re-tuned his base.

  
“Yeh had us worried for a bit last night Hazza, Eppy nearly had a fit when ‘e saw yeh.” John added. George rolled his eyes, and Robin felt like it was a good time to bring up John and Brian’s...chat.

  
“Speaking of worrying, what were you and Brian talkin’ about anyway?” Robin asked John, wanting to know if she should be expecting anymore surprise visistors while on stage. Brian had left the room to go to the loo, and she didn’t think there would be another chance to ask.

  
“Oh, yeh know, just saying that we didn’t want yeh feelin’ worried like. Yer a part of the band and yeh shouldn’t feel like yer not wanted or anythin’.” John fiddled with his tuning pegs as he said this. “And I was right pissed about Georgie’s shiner, ‘though it does look pretty wicked.” The group laughed at this and jumped into the next song, all much more relaxed now that the previous night’s events were behind them. Robin had a smile on her face for the rest of the afternoon, only dropping when Paul decided to make a lewd comment about a woman cleaning up the bar for the night ahead.

  
“Paul, I hope you don’t say things like that to girls’ faces.” Robin scolded from her drums.

  
“‘Course not, gotta save something for the bedroom.” The boys all chuckled and Robin could only scoff.

  
“Not impressed Ringo?” John joked.

  
“Just not my cup of tea, really.” She replied, missing the looks shared between the three boys. George’s face had gone quite pink, but luckily for him they were called over to a table to discuss recording logistics with Brian. Robin followed the three and sat down next to Paul, crossing her legs on the seat and leaning forward, resting her chin on her palms. In that moment, she looked far too young and out of place to be sitting in a nightclub surrounded by boys in leather jackets, George thought to himself.

  
“So, Ringo, you know that some of the songs have extra percussion right, tambourines and such?” Brian asked.

  
“Well, yes, I-”

  
“You’ll be able to play those at the same time as your drumming?” Brian interrupted, looking anxious to read through a double sided sheet of paper with very fine print.

  
“I mean, maybe? I’ve never tried before, but I guess I could-”

  
“Okay, wonderful, then we’ve got to get you all..”

  
Robin half listened to the rest of what Brian had to say, mostly time restrictions, money, amps, things she really didn’t need to have an interest in or didn’t want to have one in. She knew she had nothing to stress about, it was out of her control, and, after all, Brian had hired her, but she wasn’t too sure how she was going to go about recording percussion and drums simultaneously. It would have to go well, there wasn’t another option. It would have to, and it would.

  
When Brian finished going through recording details, it was about 7’oclock and a few patrons began flocking in, pints and chips flowing from the bar like nothing else.

  
“We might get a bit to eat before 9, wanna head out Binny?” George said, the other two already headed down the road to a chip shop.

  
“Yeah sure, ‘ve been in this club for too long already.” Robin replied, grabbing the younger boy’s hand to help herself up. This time, he let go without hesitation, and she wondered if something had happened. Stop being stupid, she thought, it’s got nothing to do with you, the man has independent thought. Despite this, she couldn’t help but miss his callused fingers reminding her that he was there.

  
The show that night went much smoother, they were even able to make it through a whole set with minimal interruptions. John made a few snide comments towards anti-Ringo crowd members, but they were harmless enough to be brushed off by most. George gave her a few small grins throughout the show, and his smiling face helped to give her a focal point when it felt like the whole room of faces all blended into one mass. They bowed as the crowd cheered and a few girls even screamed out the boy’s names, the atmosphere of the room forcing Robin to break into a wide smile.

  
From the club, George and Robin could get on the same bus home, and as they sat talking about music and films and more music the girl had a small realisation. George was, well, quite nearly perfect, At least, perfect enough for her. With Paul and John, she felt like they were her brothers, annoying but loveable, not the best of friends yet closer than anyone else. With George, she felt like they were meant to be close. They could sit in absolute silence and still enjoy each other’s company, and Robin thought that that was the sign of a perfect friendship. Perfect enough for her, anyway.

  
As she left the bus, George was the one to give her a kiss on the cheek and for a brief spark of a moment, Robin felt like maybe his perfection stretched further than just friendship. A spark was all it was, and the thought vanished as soon as it appeared, leaving the girl feeling as light as a feather. Little did she know, George was sat in the bus seat behind her recovering from the same spark he couldn’t explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ooh~ first chapter done!
> 
> how long do you think it'll take them to figure out their feelings? will i be a horrible person and have them obliviously pine forever? find out next week lol
> 
> btw if there are any typos or grammar errors or anything pls tell me i want this to actually be readable


	2. sponge-baths and tambourines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the session drummer is brought in and let's just say, those drums aren't the only thing he's lookin to bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i hate myself that summary ugh
> 
> i know i said next week and it's the next day but this is so self indulgent that i cant control myself lolol enjoy

**4 September, 1962**

The throbbing above Robin’s eyes seemed to have been building since the moment she walked into the studio that morning, sticks in hand. They’d begun recording what would soon be the B side to their first single, PS I Love You, and the girl was quickly realising that she may have bitten off more than she could chew. After agreeing to play percussion and drums simultaneously while at the Cavern Club a few weeks prior, Robin had focused her attention on more pressing matters, such as fixing the whole in her skirt and buying new stockings. Menial, really, but it was enough to pull the thought of recording out of her mind, something that would soon come to bite her in the ass.

As usual, the drum set had been prepared for a right-handed drummer, just the way Robin liked it. What caused the most issues, however, was the simple fact that it was very nearly impossible to play maracas and drums at the same time and do a half-decent job at it. It was simply too difficult to keep the shaker steady while tapping away on a snare, leg bouncing up and down on the bass drum pedal. In an effort to reduce the movement, she tried to keep the rest of her body very still and only move her wrists and ankle, but this resulted in a half-assed, weak sounding beat. Robin could see their producer’s face twitch slightly and wince whenever she got out of time or forgot what part of the song they were up to. 

Worse than that though were the rest of the boys’ reactions. John seemed to be huffing his way through the last few takes, frustrated with the way things were turning out. His harmonica sat comfortably on his upper chest, bouncing away as he played. She wondered how it was fair that John was somehow able to play multiple instruments at once with little fuss, and yet she could hardly stay in time. Paul was less obvious with his qualms, squeezing his eyes shut tight every time they had to stop in the middle of a take or had to restart before they’d even really begun. George simply gave her a tight smile, his irritation suppressed but glaringly obvious. They’d tried a few takes without maracas, and to be perfectly honest Robin didn’t mind it either way, but George Martin simply _needed_ his goddamn maracas. 

Robin’s headache reached its worse when, after a particularly bad take, Martin simply sighed and told them that they’d done enough for the day. She wasn’t stupid. _They’d_ done enough for today, not her. She didn’t think that any of her tape was salvageable, let alone useful, and all of a sudden her childhood insecurities came flooding back, but she pushed them down. You’re good enough to be here, she thought to herself, you belong here. However, her heart still dropped when Martin asked to speak with her seperately afterwards. George gave her a small smile and headed out carrying his guitar, her last link to the world outside the studio before the door clicked closed and silence engulfed the room. 

“Listen, I know I was crap, I was just getting used to it, I promise if you give me another go next week I’ll be fine I just-” Robin’s rambling was interrupted by Martin’s hands on her shoulders.

“Look love, next week we’re gonna bring in a session musician, he’ll play drums and you’ll be on the other stuff, alright? I know you know what you’re doin’, but we just don’t have time for you to get used to it.” The older man looked downcast, and Robin wasn’t sure if he was disappointed in her or in himself for trusting her, but either way she had a feeling she was being Pete-Best-ed. For the first time, she actually felt a bit sorry for her predecessor. 

“I-yeah, alright, guess I’ll see you then.” Robin picked up her bag and headed out the door, cold stone tiles in the lobby bouncing the sound of her boots off the wall. Expecting to be the last one to leave, her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets in shock when she opened the front door to be met with 3 pairs of eyes.

“Jesus, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Be a bit louder next time, would ya?” The girl joked, trying to lighten the mood but failing as the boys continued looking at her with worried faces. 

“God, what’s got your knickers in a twist?” Robin knew very well that they were all probably annoyed beyond repair and that taking the piss was just a shovel that she was using to dig her hole deeper, but her brain felt like it was trying to break down her skull and escape and she wasn’t in the mood to deal with any more irritated men.

“Binny, yeh know, about, well-” Paul began, gazing warily between the two other boys.

“Okay, I know, it was a shit show ‘aight? It was-” She was cut off by a chorus of objections.

“What? No, how could they even expect yeh to do that?” 

“I don’t think the big shot they’re bringing in next week could’ve done half the job yeh did, maybe we should ask ‘im to try?”

“Yeh shouldn’t’ve agreed in the first place, shoulda made Marty shake around a maraca or two an’ see how he likes it.”

George’s arm wrapped around her small frame as they headed out into the London evening, the girl smiling to herself as she leaned closer into the boy’s side. The warm air of chatter followed them down into the tube station as they headed back to their hotel, where the four shared 2 rooms between them; John and Paul in one and George and Robin in the other. George had offered to sleep on one of the chairs in the other room to give the girl some privacy, but she objected. After all, they were in two separate beds, what was so wrong with that? 

As George opened the door, John could already be heard on the phone next door, speaking in hushed yet forceful voice. Him and Cynthia had been married for exactly one week and were already fighting like an old couple. Well, it didn’t help that the poor girl was pregnant and still in Liverpool, staying in Brian’s flat all by herself. Of course John would join her when they weren’t recording, but the temporary distance was already getting on everyone’s nerves, the band included. Paul had nearly come and slept in their room the night before when the phone kept ringing and John kept ignoring it, too far gone into dreamland to hear the noise.

“How long do yeh think that’ll last?” George muttered from the bathroom, a mouth full of toothpaste dribbling down his chin as he tried to talk.

“Well, it depends I s’pose. They do seem to be quite fond of each other.” Robin replied.

“Yeah but, Binny, d’ya hear how ‘e talks to her? If I was Cyn I’d find someone else and say they were the father, even if the baby came out with a fringe, blind as a bat.” He finished up in the bathroom, flipping off the lights and flopping down onto the bed. Robin giggled as his hair fell down into his eyes, the boy sticking out his bottom lip in an attempt to blow it away.

“Don’t be so cynical Geo, some people, whether it’s because they’re knocked up or not, stay together their whole lives.” At this, Robin began to take off her trousers and shimmied into a pair of pyjama bottoms, the duvet covering her exposed undies. 

“Bit of a hopeless romantic are we?” His face broke into a grin at her blushing face, feeling his stomach do flips at the sight of the girl in mis-matched clothes, her short pyjama bottoms covered by a black pullover. He ignored this fact, refusing to see her as anything more than a friend. Men and women can be _just_ friends, right?

“No, I just, I like to be optimistic is all. There’s no point in only seeing the worst in people, I think it makes you a worse person yourself.”

“Really, and why is that?” George rolled off the bed towards his suitcase and began changing into his night clothes as well, oblivious to the pair of eyes flicking from his bare back to the floor, framed by an ever-deepening red hue.

“If I think that everyone around me is a horrible person, surely that would make me a sad old lady who doesn’t trust anyone, wouldn’t it?”

“Eh, doesn’t mean you can’t be realistic.” Both were now settled in bed, turned on their sides to face each other. The room became quiet and Robin so badly wanted to break it, to speak what she’d been thinking all day. It was building up inside her, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until it was off her chest. 

“Binny?” They were both drifting off now. 

“Yeah?” 

“I meant what I said, outside the studio I mean. Martin and Eppy shouldn’t’a made yeh done it all by yerself. If they kick yeh out, I’m comin’ with yeh. Which they won’t, but if they do, like.” George’s eyes met Robin’s. His words hung in the air like string lights on a Christmas tree and she thought she’d never felt more at home then she did, then and there.

“You know I failed my 11 plus, right Geo?” Robin chuckled, spurring George to do the same until they were chortling quietly into their pillows.

“How did ya manage that one love?”

“Couldn’t read ‘till I was 8, was daft as a doorknob until my mum taught me how to type. Guess I’m just used to people bein’ disappointed in me.” 

“Yeh shouldn’t be.” George replied softly.

“Huh?” Robin furrowed her eyebrows at his comment.

“Yer a lovely bird, talented too. Can’t see how anyone could be disappointed in yeh.”

“Getting slushy on me now Harrison?” Robin joked as she stood up to turn off the lights.

“Just tellin’ the truth Binny, nothin’ but the truth.” She got back down under her covers, his words making her feel warm on the inside. Not even her mother had ever shown so much faith in her.

“Night Georgie.”

“Night love.”

\-----

The next day on the train back to London, a sleepy John leant his head against the glass as the other three played cards, every once in a while being set back by a fidgety Lennon or bump on the tracks. 

“Fuck, was just about to win that one.” Paul complained as he picked cards up from the grotty train carpet. 

“Isn’t that what you said last time, you know, when I won?” Robin teased, enjoying the look of annoyance mixed with defeat that spread across the eldest player’s face.

“Can yeh all stop fuckin’ _talkin’_ , Jesus.” The grumpy guitarist then turned in his seat and smooshed his face further into the window as if it were a pillow. 

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Does Johnny need a blankie?” Robin said; the other two snickered as John grumbled further, tucking his chin down onto his chest and crossing his arms. 

“One more word Ringo, I swear to God.” The rest of his mumblings died off and were replaced by gentle snores, and for a moment the boy looked, well, like a boy. He didn’t seem stressed about a thing, it was like looking at a different person, so much so it was almost worrying.

“Oi, Ringo, we still playin’?” Paul asked, already dealing out cards on the plastic table.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, just thinkin’” Another thing she failed to notice was George’s eyes darting between John and Robin, as if it was helping to sort out the thoughts racing through his head. Did Robin have a thing for John? No, he was being ridiculous, John was _married_ for Christ’s sake, and Robin was happy for them. Or, at least she was doing a good job of pretending. George’s thoughts slowed from a gush to a trickle and he realised how stupid he was being. Why did it matter anyway? She was his friend, and he would be happy, no matter who she chose to love. 

“Now George is off with the fairies as well. Earth to Geo, come in Hazza.” Paul’s hand waved in front of George’s face before he started tickling the younger boy under the chin, causing George to pinch the older boy’s hand. Gradually, a petty fight broke out while Robin just smiled and laughed, enjoying the relative peace and quiet of the train compared to the studio. After both had cooled down and the cards were forgotten, George looked over to the girl on his left with a smile on his face, the two locking eyes for a few seconds before looking away, embarrassed. Paul just smiled to himself as he sat across from the pair, so ignorant of their own feelings.

\-----

“Andy White, nice to meet youse.” The Scottish man said as he shook each hand individually, lingering a bit too long on Robin’s with a look in his eye that screamed trouble.

“Boys, Robin, this is our session musician, he’ll be playing drums for both tracks so just give him a rundown of what needs to happen. I’ll be in the booth if you need anything.” The four were now standing in the quiet studio, eyeing down the drummer. He looked about 10 years older than them and seemed to move around his eyes a lot, as if he had other things to do or think about. 

“So, which one of you lads is the drummer?” Andy asked, his eyes scraping the ceiling and back again before landing on Robin (hint: not her eyes), who thought he held a closer resemblance to a bobble head than a man.

“Me, actually, if you just come over here, I wrote out a lead sheet for you.” Robin felt the eyes in the room fall onto her but she was determined to keep some of her pride. Not only was she being temporarily (she hoped) replaced by some Scottish nodder, but he’d already assumed she was a ditz because of what was in her pants. She caught the toe of her boot on a lead that had been left lying across the ground and almost fell on the floor before a large, rough hand grabbed her around the forearm and pulled her upright. 

“Careful love, don’t want to be messin’ up that pretty face o’ yours. Probably the only reason people come to see you play innit, come for the bird, stay for the beer.” He chuckled to himself as he sat on his stool and began tuning the drums. She grit her teeth and went to find the lead sheet written in her spiky cursive, holding back a remark about his priorities and asking if that’s what he told his wife when he proposed. The other boys hid their chuckles behind their hands as the sat by their guitars, tuning and plugging them into the amps. 

Robin situated herself on a stool with a pair of maracas and a tambourine and had never wanted to be anywhere else more in her whole life. Martin and Brian were looking at them all from behind the glass, and the four Beatles turned to see what they were waiting for. Andy was fiddling around with the snare, tapping in front of each rod until he noticed the attention laid upon him, giving a sheepish smile to the men in the booth and apologising through the microphone.

“Alright lads, let’s start with Love Me Do, whenever you’re ready.” Now Robin knew she’d really been forgotten about. Despite it seeming unnecessary, Brian never forgot to add, ‘and Robin’ onto the male pronouns he used, not wanting the girl to feel left out. She didn’t know why, but that hurt more than having a different man sit on the drums and play in her band. John gave Andy a small beat on his thigh for the tempo before counting in and jumping straight into the song. Robin played her tambourine with little concentration as she observed the other members of the band. 

John was enthusiastic as always on his harmonica, the bop in his knees seeming less out of habit and more out of excitement. By the end of the previous recording session with Robin on drums, he was hardly moving at all. Paul plucked away on his bass with a head bop on every beat of Robin’s tambourine, eyes never straying from his microphone. George did his little wiggle every once in a while as he strummed away on the guitar, often looking over at Robin when she started hitting the tambourine with a little too much aggression to silently tell her to calm down. She told herself not to look and Andy as it would only make her face go red with irritation, but some sick, masochistic part of herself did anyway. 

He had his head lolled backwards slightly, slouching over the drums and playing with a bit of a cocky attitude. Robin had seen many arrogant drummers during her time in Hamburg, and he was definitely one of them. His smirk, his overconfident drumming and his conceited personality, _god she just wanted to_ -. George gave her another look from where he was stood, this time with a raised eyebrow. She guessed that she’d been staring for a bit too long and a bit too harshly. Oh well, she was allowed to be annoyed. Ringo Starr, Beatle, professional tambourine player. Didn’t have a good ring to it. 

Finally the song ended and she stood up, not before muttering into the microphone, “I’m having a smoke” and walking out. Robin didn’t really smoke, not unless she was panicking about something, but it was nice to have an excuse. She found a crushed cigarette box in one of her coat pockets and opened it up, only to be met with an empty piece of cardboard. She sunk down onto the pavement instead, looking up into the early autumn trees and trying to blink away the tears. 

“That Ringo lass, she’s a right looker isn’t she?” Andy said, the group sitting around with water bottles and sandwiches provided by Brian. 

“Yeh’ll stay away from ‘er, unless yeh want George ‘ere comin’ after yeh.” John replied, taking a long swig from his bottle and leaning back in his chair.

“Sorry mate, didn’t realise that was your bird.” He directed at George, whose face had morphed into a scowl ever since Robin had left the room.

“Not me bird, don’t worry ‘bout it mate.” George muttered in response. Paul and John looked at each other with mild surprise, expecting the boy to be more protective over his friend. What they didn’t know was how fast the gears in George’s brain were moving, whirring around like clockwork. Why did he feel so _angry_ , why did he want to tell Andy to piss off and stay away from Robin forever, she was a free woman, she didn’t need his protection. 

“So, she shagged any o’ youse yet?” The boys all collectively choked on their water, surprised at the sudden question from this absolute stranger.

“Wouldn’t yeh say that’s a bit private to talk about in public? ‘Specially at work?” Paul said, having recovered first from swallowing his water down the wrong pipe. 

“Just wonderin’ is all, don’t ‘ave to act like a bunch o’ nancies. Plus, you call this work, I’ve never played anything easier in me life, poor doll practically wrote out the whole song for me, word for word. Doesn’t take a genius to play the same skiffle shit for 2 minutes straight.” George could feel a snarky reply building up in his lungs, but before he could say anything Robin walked back in through the doorway, eyes slightly glazed over and feet dragging along the vinyl. 

“You ready to get back to it boys?” She said sarcastically, picking up her tambourine and shaking it until they’d gotten up and were setting backup for more recording. This caught the attention of Brian and Martin in the booth, who looked up to see a grouchy Robin with her arms crossed and legs folded like she was trying to get as far away from Andy as possible. Which, in all fairness, was probably what was happening. She was in a foul mood and didn’t feel like being outside, let alone having to talk to anyone.

“Alright, we’re gonna do a few more of Love Me Do then a few takes of PS I Love You, sound good? Ringo, you’ll be on maracas for PS.” The girl nodded her frowning face up and down and she sat straight in her chair. If she was gonna play a stupid instrument, she may as well do it well. 

“One, two, three, four!” And they began to play. For the next hour or so they just played, the only breaks taken were for the three up front to have a drink of water, and for Andy to start making his moves. 

“So doll, whatcha doin’ tonight?” The man asked, his hands dangerously close to hers. She noticed they were rough, unlike the other boys. Their hands were callused, special bits of tough skin that felt soothing when placed on your own. His? They looked like they had been used for all sorts of things far less innocent than music.

“I think it’s been a week since I’ve given my mother her sponge-bath, so I’ll probably be catching up on that, and then I think my step father needs his bed pan emptied which is always a _whole_ thing, so I think I’m all booked out. Why do you ask?” She replied, playing dumb. The other boys tried to stifle their laughs and somewhat succeeding. At one point, Paul had to stuff his face into his jumper to keep from spoiling the joke. 

“I, uh, no reason love, just makin’ conversation.” Andy slowly backed off and returned to his drum stool, twirling his drumsticks in between his fingers. George turned to give her a toothy grin just as John counted them in and she felt her heart jump. At least she had him on her side, that would be all that mattered to her. She maraca-ed her little heart out for the remaining time they had in the studio before Brian called it a day and thanked Andy for his work. Robin didn’t really know why the boys were acting the same way as her towards Andy, he wasn’t exactly hitting on them, but she decided not to question it.

“So I guess I’ll um, see you guys ‘round maybe? Robin, wanna come for some drinks?” Andy offered, his forehead sweating in the afternoon light. 

“Sorry, got that sponge-bath to get to.” She squinted at him, the shy English sun deciding to show it’s face that day.

“Right then, see ya.” With that, Andy White scurried off down the path way, face red and ego wounded. Good, Robin thought to herself. Good.

Paul then broke the loaded silence by cackling until his eyes were watery and his nose was runny. “Yeh just, yeh, oh my lord,” he said between gasps, “yeh, yeh really got him, the, the bed pan.” he then dissolved into another fit of laughter and had to be guided down to the station. They would get the train up to Liverpool straight from the studio, the Cavern Club did not appreciate late coming performers (they’d learnt from experience). 

“That was real funny, like, he really believed yeh.” George said quietly as the other two walked on ahead, Paul still recuperating from his laughing fit and collapsing into John’s shoulder.

“You think so? He was a bit of a git right? I wasn’t just bein’ an ass?” Robin asked, an apprehensive smile on her face.

“Don’t worry love, he deserved it.” George then placed his arm around her shoulders, grins on both their faces.

\-----

“So, did he say anythin’ about me, you know, while I was havin’ a smoke?”

“He asked if yeh’d shagged us.”

“And you said no, right?”

“Well-”

“John!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's robin's first run in with a bit of casual sexism and some sexual advances so far, what do we think?
> 
> also writing george not understanding his feelings is like writing about a boy going through puberty. he just needs a book called, 'your changing body' and he'll be right
> 
> andy white was the actual drummer brought in to record love me do and ps i love you but im sure he was a much nicer man than how i wrote him lmao. also irl im pretty sure ringo just,,tried to play those instruments at the same time without being asked but i needed more drama you know


	3. fan mail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> as their popularity begins to grow in liverpool, an influx of fan mail reaches the Beatles, and some of it is...less than savoury.

**17 November, 1962**

“Lovely Ringo,

I just wanted to write and let you know how my heart beats when I see you play. 

It lights up my night and no matter what a few of the birds say, I’d rather see you up there than some bloke any day. 

If you ever need a shag, just let me know.

xoxo

James”

The room dissolved into laughter, watery eyes and cramping stomachs filling the room with jovial noise. Robin had put on her best Liverpudlian accent to act out the part of a brave yet woefully unaware uni student, just desperate enough to try his luck in a piece of fan mail. The return address was written in large, clear print that contrasted violently with the scrawl that contained his main message.

“Yeh think his mum wrote that bit for ‘im?” George said pointing at the neat penmanship on the back of the letter, now torn in two by Robin’s unruly opening style. The pair chuckled and subconsciously leaned further into each other, their knees and forearms already pressed together. All four Beatles sat cross-legged on the floor of Brian’s office, the carpet pressing small indents into their resting palms splayed out behind them. They’d been handed an accumulation of fan mail that had been left to build up while doing their second residency in Hamburg, and were now enjoying the private yet entertaining activity of laughing at other people.

The early morning light streamed through the thin curtains and onto several small piles of letters and pictures awaiting reply and/or criticism, the four acting like cruel reality TV show hosts on a game of ‘Britain’s Top Fans.’ They actually felt great swells of pride with every letter they opened, a tangible piece of evidence that the group was moving up in the world, but some were just too good to ignore. It was only 10 o’clock but their recent spurts of success had left them buzzed and overexcited, much to Freda (Brian’s secretary)’s surprise when she entered the room carrying bags of paper.

However exciting the small-scale fame was, it came with some unease for Robin, only solidified by occurrences like the letter. She was quite little, only 5 foot 2, and if someone like James saw her alone and decided he wanted a go with her, well, he would probably be able to do so. She tried not to let the thought spoil the nice scene in front of her; John, Paul and George grinning like cheshire cats as they opened letter after letter from adoring girls. Robin would’ve felt jealous of their haul if she was receiving notes as lovely as the boys, but her humble pile was comprised mostly of sexually frustrated young (and not so young) men whose words granted her a feeling of disconcertion in her bones. No Michael, she wasn’t interested in meeting his friends. No Peter, she didn’t want to see how a ‘real man’ plays guitar, and no James, she wouldn’t like a shag.

“Listen to this one Ringo:

‘My darling, dear, delightful John, 

You really have no idea how lucky I feel to be able to write this letter.

To be alive at the same time as the Beatles, in the same city!

A few years from now I’m sure I’ll be pointing at the telly saying ‘He’s from Liverpool!”

All my love,

Mary xx’” John read aloud boastfully, smile reaching his eyes, both of which were twinkling from attention. Robin sighed and flopped down onto her back, legs springing out in front of her.

“If only some of the lads in this god forsaken city could write that well, maybe I wouldn’t be such a sad sack.” She rolled over and reached for another letter, ripping it open in a way not unlike a child on Christmas. The aggressive, messy aspect, not the excitement.

“They all want to shag yeh, don’t see what’s so bad about that.” Paul replied mindlessly, having abandoned his mail and choosing to read the paper instead. 

“Dear Ringo,

My mates and I thought you looked lovely up behind those drums the other night.

Have you ever considered going blonde? You’d make a lovely Bridgette Bardot.

Best wishes,

Simon.” The girl read deadpan, crumpling up the paper and lobbing it towards the bin. It fell just short of the basket and George leant over to pop it in. 

“If I was a bird, I don’t think I’d mind being called Bridgitte Bardot, she’s right fit, like.” 

“That’s not the point, John.” Robin replied. “The point is that you lot get letters about the band, about  _ you _ . Mine are about me, sure, about how I look, if I’d shag ‘em. I don’t want that to be how people think of me.” The other boys went quiet at this, dropping their respective reading materials and looking down at the girl, whose face was slightly scrunched. 

“Yeh know no one in their right mind would think that of yeh love, yer a gun on drums and if those wankers can’t look past yer tits, well, too bad.” Paul monologued, seeming a bit bashful by the end with 3 pairs of eyes on him. 

“After we make it out o’ Liverpool, yeh’ll see. The softies in London’ll eat yeh up, tits an’ all.” John added, his face going slightly pink after realising what he said.

“I don’t think that’s exactly what she wanted to ‘ear mate.” George said, not sure if it was appropriate to laugh at the poor choice of words. Robin let out a small snort and sat up properly, leaning her head on George’s shoulder.

“You really think it’ll get better?” She said softly. 

“It can’t exactly get much worse, can it love.” Paul said, returning to his newspaper. A comfortable buzz settled over the room, paper sliding over paper, the cars on the outdoor street, George quietly humming to himself all mixing into a hum of calm energy. The past few weeks in Hamburg had been the same as the first time, minus threats of deportation: playing, drinking, dancing, sleeping. It was nice to have some peace and quiet with each other. 

That was, until it was broken by Paul exclaiming, “Some lad made a 95 stone gingerbread ‘ouse!”

“Does he need any help eating it, I think I know a guy.” Robin stated, pinching George in the side. “Feel that, nothing, not a single thing but rib.” She continued, the boy getting more and more squeamish. 

“Oi, yeh’ll be sorry when yeh weigh more than the bloody gingerbread house and I’m still thin as a rail.” He retorted, scrambling away from the girl’s nimble fingers. Her rings only made the tickling more intense and he felt himself crushing letters as he fought her off.

“Speakin’ of food, yeh want to get some chips? Train’s in 2 hours and yeh know how Eppy is, he’ll be callin’ us at quarter past 12 saying we’ll be late.” John stood up as he said this, grabbing Robin’s hand and pulling her up. 

“Only if yeh shout.” Paul jumped to his feet and headed out the door, the sound of his shoes growing fainter as he descended the stairs. George felt a bit sorry for Freda having to clean up their mess, but he figured no one else would be in the room for a few days anyway. Brian liked to have as many meetings in London as possible, said it gave the band a better image, whatever that meant.

They headed out of the office and out of instinct, George wrapped his hand around Robin’s, the cold November air hitting his face. The girl smiled to herself and brought her other arm to rest in the crook of his elbow, their shoulders touching as they walked down the cement path. Neither knew what is was they were feeling, but they knew it felt good.

\-----

Robin sat in a rickety wooden chair opposite a large mirror as she tied her hair up into a ponytail. They were in a small dressing room at some hall in Coventry and the girl wondered if she’d ever smelt a room so awful in her whole life. 

“Didn’t I tell yeh to lay off the beans George.” Paul joked as he tied his tie, jacket in a heap on his chair, ready to be thrown on at the last second. 

“If yeh think that this is what passing gas smells like, I think yeh have more problems than what I’m eatin’ for breakfast.” George’s reply was punctuated by the door creaking open and every head turned to face it, only to be met with an empty threshold. 

“Fuckin’ haunted this place is.” Robin muttered as she slid another hair pin into place, the sharp ends making her wince as she accidentally scraped her scalp.

“Not haunted, just shite. Why’re we in Warwickshire for Christ’s sake, surely there was somewhere in Liverpool for us to play.” Paul complained.

“We’re gettin’ our name out Macca. At least, that’s what Brian would say.” John made sure to cover his tracks by using the manager as a scapegoat, always quick to hide any real ambition or care that he had. 

“Ow, fuck.” Robin bumped the same spot with her final hair pin, the do needing to be in solid form for the show. It wasn’t like she did anything crazy on stage, but she knew she’d never hear the end of it if the one girl in the band had to pause in between songs to put her hair up. 

“Y’aright love?” George asked, the only one fully ready and lounging on a dilapidated couch plucking chords on his guitar. 

“Yeah, just nicked a spot, not a big deal.”

“Just cut yer hair, fully assimilate.” John cheekily commented. 

“I’ve thought about it, wouldn’t go any shorter than my shoulders though. Don’t actually want to look like a 10 year old Paul.” She thought out loud as she slipped on her brown jacket and pulled up her tights. She’d considered switching to pants so that they could all match, but the looks given to her at the shops by judgy sales assistants were enough to turn her off the idea. She wouldn’t mind a bob though, her mum told her that it would suit her cheeks, but then again mothers can’t exactly find their child ugly. 

“Give me some credit, I was a bit taller than that.” The bassist teased as Robin gave him a soft punch on the arm. 

“Boys, you’re on in 10 minutes if you want to start heading out.” A plump manager-type man said as he stuck his head around the corner. Robin just rolled her eyes and tied up her boots before grabbing her drumsticks and heading out the door.

“Definitely not cutting my hair.” She murmured.

\-----

It wasn’t a bad gig. A decent amount turned up, no one forgot any words, everything was in tune. But compared to their other first nights? It sucked. Usually after a trip away, their return to the Cavern Club was met with loud rounds of applause and a substantial level of cheering. Even crowds where no one knew who they were warmed up to the bright music and enthusiastic musicians by a few songs in. This audience? Dull, lifeless, grey, drab, dreary, the list goes on. Robin was used to feeding off the crowd, the better the feedback the better she played, it was a two way street. Her drumming lacked oomph, and so did the other boys’ playing. Not to mention it still smelt like horse shit. 

After finishing with I Saw Her Standing There, the crowd clapped politely and Robin climbed out from behind the drums, eliciting a few wolf whistles from somewhere in the room. ‘Oh, so now they’re interested,’ the girl thought to herself. The four gave a little bow and headed off the stage to the right, John immediately going on a rant about audience etiquette. 

“They could’ve at least smiled, clapped along, anything woulda been better than whatever that was, why even bother with the five shillings if yer gonna act like a bunch o’ sad old cu-”

“Chill out John, it wasn’t that bad. I even got a whistle at the end, we made one bloke happy.” Robin joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere, but all she gained was an awkward chuckle (from herself) and an annoyed George. Paul looked so tired, she wasn’t sure if he even knew where he was anymore. 

“Let’s just head back to the station, ‘right? We’re playin’ the Cavern tomorrow, it’ll be good.” The girl tried a more comforting approach and thought she’d made more success, George’s hand slipping into her own as it tended to do when he was annoyed, or angry, or sad, or happy, or come to think of it, whenever he was standing next to her. It was a nice reassurance that no matter how crappy a performance was, she’d always have her friend their to hold her hand. 

  
  


“Binny?” John asked as they waited in the station, vinyl seats cold and sticky in the night air.

“Mm?”

“When blokes, yeh know, whistle at birds and they act all annoyed, are they actually or is it like, I dunno, a thing yeh just  _ do _ ?” The boy at least had the sense to seem sheepish at his question, which was probably only surfacing as the other two seemed to be dozed off completely. 

“We’re actually annoyed John, unless the girl likes the fella, and even then it’s a bit, well, a bit uncomfortable.” She tried to hold in her laughter, knowing the boy was genuinely clueless.

“But like, it means yer fit.”

“But we’re also not dogs.” A look of realisation passed over his face before he schooled it into a mask of calm collectedness.

“Right, yeah ‘course.” 

“Oh Johnny, so much to learn.”

“Back off, mm married remember?”

“Your poor wife.”

\-----

The train ride home was largely uneventful with John and Paul asleep, splayed out across the empty seats of the 1am express train back to Liverpool. 

George was sleepy but conscious after his short nap, eyes drooping softly and blinking languidly as he observed the girl sitting across from him. Robin’s thoughts were moving far too fast for her to ignore them and drift off. The whistle, the letters, even the venue manager all whipped around her head, bouncing off walls and wreaking havoc. After all, she was the only girl, it made sense for her to stick out, to not fully belong. No matter what, she would always be the  _ tiniest _ bit of an outsider.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout, love?” George said softly, not wanting to wake the others. She just shook her head in response with a smile plastered on her face.

“Nothing, don’t worry, you can sleep if you want, I don’t mind.” At this the boy reached out to poke her cheek, not taking no for an answer.

“I can tell yer thinkin’ about somethin’, I’m not blind, just tell me.” He lay his head on his arms, looking up at her sideways from the flimsy train table. 

“It’s just, I know I’m in the band and that I should be but, sometimes I can’t help feelin’ like I’m not. Like, you know, I’m not a lad, obviously, I don’t write any songs and I only joined 3 months ago when you’ve all been together since you were in school. It’s not a big deal, really George, don’t give me that face.” The guitarist had lifted up his head to meet her eye line with a sad-slash-angry-at-himself sort of look, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“I don’t even wanna think about this band without yeh Binny, yeh hold us together.” He looked at her with a dead serious expression until both cracked and grinned. 

“Don’t go soft on me, Georgie.” Robin said, poking his cheek in the same fashion as he did to her. 

“Just can’t help meself.” He said, eyes meeting hers with a gentle intensity that made her stomach tie itself in knots. Suddenly, the sounds around her seemed to amplify and she was much more aware of how close he was, his breath fanning out over her mouth. The train wheels sped along and the air lashed at the windows outside, but all she could think about was George and his eyes and nose and lips and-. Friends don’t think like this, Robin thought to herself. This is not what friends do. The pair began to lean closer together, lips only centimetres apart, she could smell the mixture of alcohol and smoke from his mouth and slowly closed her eyes. 

“Fuck, these seats are so stiff, I think I’ve lodged a vertebrae in one of me lungs.” John exclaimed, letting out a big yawn as he finished his sentence. The pair had drawn apart hastily and were now both resting their eyes on John’s figure as to avoid eye contact with each other. “Yeh both look like yeh’ve seen a ghost, maybe the place was haunted after all, Ringo.” The eldest boy stood up to stretch his arms above his head, leaning from side to side and cracking out seemingly every bone in the human body.

“Jesus John, yeh sound like a bag of popcorn.” George said, evoking a laugh from Robin and a grunt from John. George smiled at the girl as he scooted over for John to sit down, the two delving into a conversation about why knuckles crack. The answer seemed pretty ordinary but it was keeping them entertained. ‘Good’ Robin thought, ‘We can pretend it never happened.’ Every once in a while, one would sneak looks at the other and smile to themselves and it was killing John inside to watch it happen. They were obviously smitten and he wondered how long it would take for them to admit it, to themselves and each other. 

\-----

That night as Robin slipped off her socks and took off her coat, she felt a slip of paper in her pocket and unfolded it. Instead of a receipt or any other manner of mundane objects, she found herself looking at George’s curly handwriting on the back of a cardboard coaster from the chippy. 

“To dear Ringo, 

I’m writing this in the toilet so the other lads don’t call me soft and so you don’t see, so sorry if it's a bit wonky. I just wanted to say that you’re possibly the greatest bird I’ve ever met after my mum, and even she’s got a run for her money. If you don’t get as many nice letters as me and the boys, don’t worry, it saves more Ringo for us three. Really, if I had to share you with all the blokes that fancied you, I’d need to steal you away. I’m running out of space, so I hope you end up reading this and not throwing it away by accident. 

Love your best friend, George”

Best friends. That was all they’d ever be. That was all they ever should be. Best friends. It was better for the band, better for the other boys, better for her sanity. Just friends. She tucked herself into bed, placing the coaster on her night stand. ‘If I had to share you with all the blokes that fancied you, I’d need to steal you away.’ She kept repeating it over and over in her head, pondering if it was really something a friend would say to another friend. Of course it was, George just liked her company. Which was fine. Because they were best friends. 

She slept fitfully that night, unsure of why she couldn’t fall asleep. Lying awake, staring at the ceiling, George wondered what kind of idiot would end a love letter with ‘your best friend.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn i really did that lol
> 
> i know that it seems hella cliche but i just feel like it would happen. theyre both so out of touch with their feelings it would so be 'oh we almost kissed but friends??'
> 
> also i knooowww it seems like every chapter robin has something new to be insecure about but she'll get her confidence up soon dont worry. what do you guys think about her character so far?
> 
> fun facts:  
> even though paul remembered it happening at a different venue, he said their show at the matrix in conventry was the worst first-night ever. i didnt rlly know exactly what that meant so i guessed lolol
> 
> when freda first set up the official fan club she put the mailing address as her home address but had to change it to brian's office because she was getting hundreds of letters daily lmao


	4. with the band

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the band books their very first TV appearance on Thank your Lucky Stars, but it might not be all it's cracked up to be.

**13 January, 1963**

“Ringo, Ringo, Ringo, Ring-”

“What is it Paul?” The girl glanced up from her sewing with an exasperated look on her face. She’d been trying to re-attach the buttons to her jacket with her mediocre stitching skills after they’d all gradually come loose. Trying, not doing, because she was interrupted every 2 minutes with an overexcited boy who absolutely  _ needed _ to tell her something.

“We’re gonna be on the telly. Isn’t that proper cool? We’re proper famous, like.” Paul’s face was lit up like a street lamp at night and Robin didn’t have the heart to get annoyed at him.

“I s’pose so yeah, my mum’ll be chuffed anyway.” The girl returned to her needle work, tying the knot on the first button. Only 3 to go. 

“Yeh don’t sound very excited, love.” John commented as he finished doing his crossword, the Birmingham newspaper crinkling under his tightly-held pencil. He would never admit it, but John loved a good puzzle. 

“I dunno, I think I’m still comin’ to terms with it. Doesn’t feel real, you know.” Robin muttered as she channeled her focus onto the black button in front of her. 

“I’m sure yeh’ll be just as buzzed as the rest of us after our rehearsal.” George said from his perch on a nearby table. The dressing room they had been told to wait in was a definite upgrade from dingy back rooms in pubs and clubs, but if she wanted to Robin could reach out and find herself touching both a wall and a mirror on opposites sides. 

“Do yeh know if we’re meant to be playin’? Cos, we can just mouth the words, but surely they’ll hear the guitars?” Paul questioned (mostly to himself), the rehashed news that they wouldn’t really be performing putting a damper on the atmosphere. Even though it was probably the most important thing to happen in their careers so far, the group couldn't help but feel put out by the fact that they had to mime. Especially with the release of Please Please Me a couple of days prior, they were more eager to play than ever.

“Dunno mate, maybe we’ll get Ringo to bash around a bit more, give ‘em a good show.” 

“You absolutely will not.” Brian scolded John as he appeared in the doorway. “You’ll go to rehearsal and be polite, no smartass comments thank you. Your recording’s at 4, please get dressed properly before then” The four looked down at their drab plain clothes, Paul at least having the decency to seem embarrassed by his bare feet. 

“Lighten up Eppy, we’ll be a hit.” John replied with a cocky smile.

“You’re at the bottom of the bill, don’t feel too special. Now, sound check in 10 minutes, you’ll be great.” As he walked back down the hall, presumably towards the stage, Paul muttered, “Why’ve we gotta do a bloody soundcheck when we aren’t even playin’?”

\-----

Robin looked around at the stage empty of microphones and speakers and the seats yet to be filled. The sanitised room was so much of a stark contrast to their usual lowly lit concert halls and ballrooms, it almost felt like she was in a movie. Technically, she thought to herself, she was. The cameras were poised around the room, left to sleep until the filming that evening began and Robin knew she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from beaming at the lenses like a schoolboy on photo day. “Oi, love, ya seats at the back, on the riser. Need some directions?” A burly, creased man said loudly from behind a camera causing the other (very much male) crew members to snicker amongst themselves. 

“Lay off the bird, she’s got more sense in ‘er pinky than you do in yer ‘ole body.” John snapped quickly, the other boys looking disgruntled and annoyed. 

“John, really, it’s fine.” Before John could reply, George cut in.

“It’s not fine, Binny, yeh shouldn’t have to put up with that crap.”

“Whenever ya ready, ladies.” The same man snarked as his face crumpled up like a paper ball.

Paul gave a nod to the slightly kinder looking man behind a glass sound booth, John still glaring daggers at the perpetrator. Suddenly, the opening notes of their songs blared out from speakers strategically camouflaged into the set. Robin and the boys mimed along semi-enthusiastically, the girl instantly conscious of several sets of eyes laying on her. The cold weather had restricted her to a limited supply of pullovers and thick trousers that gave her more of a likeness to a marshmallow than a woman, but she could still feel their gazes roaming her skin. 

“Last night I said these words to my girl, 

I know you never even try, girl…” A pre-recorded John sung a song she’d heard hundreds of times, and that, combined with the fact that she wasn’t really playing, allowed her to drift off into a whirlpool of her own thoughts. George, usually quiet and reserved while in front of members and the public, looked as if he was about to rip someone’s head off. Robin hated to say it, but it felt good to know that he cared about her. 

“Please me, whoa yeah, like I please you.” 

The music ended and was replaced with shuffling sounds of staff reorganising time sheets, programs, anything but paying attention to those on stage. The band realised that it didn’t actually matter what they were doing, the rehearsal was more of a formality than a necessity. 

“Good job lads, lady, ya free to go until ya performin’.” A voice spoke from over the speakers, and it took a few seconds to pinpoint the origin of the voice to the person in the booth. He gave them all a smile as if to apologise for his coworkers and nodded towards Robin, and acknowledgment of her irritation. 

“Can’t wait teh see ya again love, gunna wear a pretty little dress for us?” In that moment, Robin watched George’s face flash with outrage as he turned around and opened his mouth to berate the older man. 

“Yer not gonna be seein’ anythin’ if yeh keep talkin’ to her like that, yeh disgustin’ man. She’s-” His spiel was cut off by the feeling of Robin’s hand in his own, her slim fingers intertwining between his as her thumb rubbed across the back of his hand. 

“Not worth it Georgie, your mum’ll have a fit if she sees you on the telly with another shiner, won’t she?” The girl murmured and she lightly began tugging him away from the scene and back towards their dressing room. He looked as if he’d deflated like a balloon as he followed the others back to the room, upset that he couldn’t have done anything of importance to help her. 

“That was right brave Hazza.” Paul said as he plonked down in his seat again, looking as if he never left.

“Thought ‘e was about to smash yer face in. Got a bit of deja vu for a second.” John added as he returned to his puzzles, foot tapping along to the muffled music still playing from the stage. 

“Sorry ‘bout that. It really doesn’t bother me, you don’t have to be a hero.” Robin muttered, hand still in George’s as they sat on the couch together. She leant her head onto his shoulder and let out a breath that she felt like she’d been holding since they’d walked into the filming room. 

“How can yeh say that like it’s yer fault? What if I wanta be a hero, aye, whatcha gonna do about it?” What began serious ended with George sporting a cheeky smile, egging on the girl to retaliate. 

“I’m gonna get real famous so no one’ll ever be able to be a wanker to me and then you’ll never get the chance.” Her grin reached the corners of her eyes, making them squish together like little rays of sunlight. 

“Yeh’ll get famous huh? What’re we, chopped liver? It’s gonna be a one woman band is it?” George teased, getting closer and closer to the girl’s face with every comment.

“What are you gonna do about it, try and stop me.” The two grinned at each other before their banter was interrupted by a grumpy guitarist. 

“Would yeh two just fuckin’ shag already and save Macca and I the pain, Jesus.” The two went red and shuffled away from each other, avoiding eye contact. 

“Shut yer mouth, Lennon.” George said sharply, his usual light-aired tone gone and replaced with a scowl. Paul and John shared a knowing look as they watched the pair overcompensate to ignore the other’s presence, not the first time they’d witnessed the ongoing game of denial between the two, a bubble of feelings just waiting to pop.

\-----

“Well boys, Robin, that went pretty well.” Brian complimented as they piled into the car that would take them back to Liverpool. Since booking more gigs, the long train trips had been upgraded to being squashed into the manager’s car. Pros: no questionable liquids on the floor, no delays or cancelled trains and full control of the radio. Cons: being the smallest, Robin was always sat in between two boys, usually George and John as Paul got motion sickness and claimed he needed a full view of the road to quell his upset stomach. It sounded like an excuse for more leg room, but Robin wasn’t about to find out the hard way. Another con, the traffic on the M6 was so horrific that at times they would move about a metre a minute, the boys asking if it was legal to walk up the highway to get back.

“We ever gonna get to, yeh know, play?” Paul said, still cut about the performance. 

“You’ve got some radio shows in a week, quite a few actually, you can play your hearts out then.” Brian replied, unaware of the tension that had arisen during the day. They settled into a stifled silence, the buzzing radio only adding to the atmosphere. “Alright, what’sa matter with you?” The manager caved, uncomfortable in the unfamiliar quiet of a car shared with the Beatles.

“Yeh know how Binny gets treated by some of the blokes we meet right? That White fella, the drummer? Kept tryna make ‘is moves on ‘er. One o’ the cameramen was talkin’ to her like a child when she’s the one in front of the cameras. The rest of us never get that crap, so yeh can’t say it’s just the way it is for a band like us. Isn’t there  _ anything _ yeh can do about it?” George said, once again getting himself worked up for Robin’s sake.

“George…” The girl trailed off, not liking to see her friend so upset.

“No, he’s right Robin, you shouldn’t have to deal with that sort of thing, but I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do about it. Unfortunately, you’re quite pretty, and some men can’t cope with the fact that you’re talented, their ego’s are just too inflated.” Robin sat awkwardly in the middle of the car, Brian’s response not doing anything to make her feel better. If anything, she just felt worse.

“I don’t need any special treatment, I can cope with it myself. The bigger deal you all make the bigger this sort of thing stands out, and I’m honestly fine to just sweep it under the rug.” The other 3 band members gave her skeptical looks and she let out a sigh before saying, “I’m  _ fine _ , you really don’t need to worry.” At this, she closed her eyes and leant back in the seat, tired from a day of fighting and attention. She hated it, she hated talking about it, she didn’t want people to ask if she was okay, she just wanted them to see her smile and believe it. As they should, because she really was  _ fine. _

As Robin fell further and further asleep, her head naturally fell onto the first solid surface and rested there. This just happened to be John’s shoulder, who saw the sleepy girl and gave George, wearing an expression of unreadable emotions, a sly smirk.

“Don’t worry Georgie, this birdie’s all yers.” With that hanging in the air, Robin shuffled and turned over, snuggling deeper into George’s arm than she had John’s. This only gave John more to be smug about, subtly puffing up his chest and leaning on his door to face the two. “See, she just can’t stay away.” The youngest boy blushed but looked down at the girl on his shoulder anyway, her long fringe having fallen into her face and tickling her nose, making it scrunch up and twitch adorably like a baby rabbit. He felt his heart die a little bit, knowing that there were men out there who’d want to make such an innocent, happy girl sad or scared. George knew that for the rest of his life, he would keep her safe, no matter what it took.

Brian looked over his shoulder an hour later as they stopped at a red light on the edge of Liverpool. The two were fast asleep, George’s arm around Robin and his head resting on hers which was still smushed into his shoulder. Paul had occupied himself with a magazine found in the glove box and John was scribbling song lyrics in his notebook, sudden inspiration coming from the pair sitting next to him. “You two are sure they’re not going out yet?” Brian asked, an eyebrow raised at the two oldest boys.

“Trust me, you’ll know when we do.” Paul reassured. 

“Wouldn’t be waiting for it, they’re both as blind as mice.” John muttered, concentrating hard on his song-in-progress. It was only about 6 o’clock and the group hadn’t eaten since lunchtime, so they decided to go to a pub down the street from Brian’s office. 

“Just so we’re clear, this is yer shout, right Eppy?” George said, still in a sleepy haze, an equally as dazed Robin standing next to him on the pavement rubbing the gunk out of her eyes. 

“Yeah, alright, get a move on you two.” Brain said from a few metres down the road. The smell of meat and grease soon engulfed them and they sat down at a table in the far corner of the pub. A few years ago, the Quarrymen had been booked to play at the very same pub but where soon replaced when the manager found out that neither John, Paul nor George were 18 yet. A few weeks after that, John’s mother passed away and they never really found the time or energy to come and try again.

The pub today was bustling and loud with subpar but quick service, their meals sitting in front of them within 10 minutes of arrival. George had made a decent dent in his dish before Robin had even had a bite of her schnitzel, the boy’s bottomless pit stomach a phenomenon to everyone that witnessed him eat. 

“Yeh want some air with that steak George? Be careful or you’ll be breathin’ in potato instead of oxygen.” John joked, the former looking up, wide eyed with a mouth full of food. 

“Yuh jufft jshehlub.” He replied, still with a mouth full of food.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear over the sound of your chewing.” Robin said. George swallowed and took a sip of beer before replying. 

“Yer all just jealous because I can eat whatever I want and still look ‘andsome.” He said with a smile on his face.

“I’m not jealous of yer arteries, yeh’ll have a heart attack before yeh turn 40.” Paul replied, just trying to get a reaction out the younger boy.

“That’s rich comin’ from yeh Paul, who was it I saw eat a family pack of crisps in one go last week, hmm?” 

“This is possibly the worst argument I’ve ever heard my whole life, just keep eating and stop talking, please.” Robin cut in, seeing the pained look on Brian’s face as he tried to tune out the bickering. She knew he’d probably had to deal with a whole car ride of this while she was asleep, the poor man putting up with too much for the boys’ sakes. 

“Yeh gonna finish that?” George asked Robin, her half eaten chicken lying on the plate in front of her. 

“Nah, you have it.” She pushed her plate towards him, stomach filled with food just for the sake of absorbing alcohol. She’d gone drinking on an empty stomach in her late teenage days, and there were things that happened on those nights she never wanted to relive. 

“‘Nother round Eppy?” John asked as he lifted his drained glass as proof. Brian could only smile with defeat before standing up to order 5 more pints. Even though he didn’t want to get their hopes up, the manager knew that their TV appearance (which wouldn’t air for another 6 days) was the start of something big in their careers, and he was trying to celebrate in the subtlest way possible. If that meant pumping them with alcohol until they needed to be pumped of alcohol, then so be it. 

\-----

“Georgie?” Robin asked, her voice slightly slurred from alcohol. Drinking the same amount as men 1.5x one’s size was never a good idea. Well, unless one of those men was a friend willing to walk one home, in which case it was acceptable.

“Yes, love.” George replied, eyes sparkling in the evening light. It was only about 10pm, but the small street they were on was void of life save for the two strolling, George walking backwards to face the girl.

“Do you, do you think that, if, if I wasn’t here, or, you know, if I was a bloke, we’d, you’d be famous, like?” A twinge of her Scouse accent showed itself in her drunken ramblings, the girl’s suppressed worries now coming to light as her inhibitions were lost. 

“I feel like we’ve had this conversation before, yeh know, the one where I told yeh we wanted yeh in the band?” He replied softly, dropping back to walk with her side by side.

“I know, but, you know ‘how I am, just keep it all inside until I can’t anymore.” George looked down at the girl with sadness in his eyes, and felt angry at himself for not realising something was wrong, really wrong, earlier.

“No, I didn’t know that’s how yeh were, yeh know why?”

“Why?” Robin asks, looking up at the boy with curious eyes.

“Cos yeh need to tell me these things, love.” He just sighed and pressed a kiss onto her hairline, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and rubbing up and down her arm.

“I know I do, but, today, I thought I was fine, I really did, and then that man said those things and you and John and Paul got so upset and it’s just that, what if something happened? What if they’d told all the producers to not hire us, cos there was a crazy girl who just caused trouble. I know you all say you want me here, but do you? What if you just think you do cos I’m here now, it’d be too hard to replace me.” She drifted off, eyes glazed over and droopy. 

“Exactly, yer too hard to replace Binny, I’ve told yeh before and I’ll tell yeh ‘till yeh believe me. Yer a gun on drums, yeh can sing even though yeh think yeh can’t, yer nice to everyone, even the cunts, and yeh chose to be friends with us. Can’t see why we’d want to get rid of yeh, even if yeh do cause a bit of trouble.” They’d stopped walking at that point, only a few streets away from her house. Without warning, Robin melted into George’s chest and wrapped her arms around his torso, head nestled under his chin. The boy reciprocated by putting his arms around her shoulders and pulling her in tighter as the stars circled above them. 

“Don’t worry Georgie, yeh’ll never have to tell me that again.” She said, words muffled by the coat her face was mashed into.

“Huh?” He asked, confused at the girl’s sudden change in tone. 

“Well, now I proper believe it, don’t I?” Robin exclaimed as she pulled away from the hug, leaving both a little colder and disappointed, but she thought if it went on for much longer she might never be able to move again. 

“That’s good to hear love, very good to hear.”

\-----

The next day, the band crammed into Brian’s car to head a few miles away to Merseyside, all very much hungover.

“You’ve sold this one out today, ‘bout 700 of ‘em all payin’ to see you lot.” Their manager said in an attempt to cheer them up but still failing. The four just smiled half-heartedly and resumed their business of closing their eyes and pretending the world wasn’t spinning on its axis at an alarming rate while their heads seemed to pound out of their skulls. Despite this, Robin was in a surprisingly good mood for someone with a headache the strength of a power drill. She could picture the show’s flyer in her mind, a caricature of their smiling faces above the venue’s details. It was a fairly ugly cartoon if she could say so herself, but they were all on it. She was a part of the advertising. People coming would be coming to see her too. She didn’t know why a brutish drawing of the band was what solidified the fact that she truly was a member of the Beatles, especially after George’s words to her the night before (of which she only remembers moments), but it was enough to make her feel like she belonged, properly this time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it bad that i'm just writing george and robin like a couple minus the couple bit at this point. they be stupid hoes but like she said, robin sucks with feelings 
> 
> easter egg, i made a reference to abbey road (the album) try and find it lol (hint: it's not very hard)
> 
> i'm thinking of not writing for this fic as frequently because i have a bad feeling that i'll just end up writing the same stuff over and over again (which is what i sort of feel like im doing atm lol) and writing some more imagine/one shot type things in between chapters (seperate stories tho). idk i just have a few ideas for some short fics but knowing me i'll get too attached. plus i wanna write a one shot for when they started calling her binny because,,,theyre calling her a bin like what
> 
> fun facts ye Yee:  
> the band did have to mime on thank your lukcy stars, but i dont know if they really cared very much irl lmao
> 
> the merseyside gig was a real gig they played and the poster was from a show they played in america and oh boy is it ugly like damn


	5. starr time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the band have their first magazine interview and the boys struggle to understand a cheeky bit of casual sexism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been a while, this chapter's a bit longer than usual so enjoy :))

**22 March, 1963**

For the last 2 weeks, every day had started the same. Robin would wake up whenever the rowdy boys next door would wake up, look out onto the unfamiliar town and proceed to dress herself. The first few days of the tour had been a bit more sappy, thinking about how far they’ve come and how people in completely different parts of England were queueing up to see their shows, but waking up alone and going to sleep alone really put a damper on one’s emotions. She had been separated from the others on tour in order to, in Brian’s words, ‘Keep things civil.’ 

They were on the road with Tommy Roe and Chris Montez, both starting out as the headliners and swiftly being replaced by Robin and the boys who had proven by the first night that they were the most popular act for a British tour. It wasn’t like they  _ wanted  _ to upstage the Americans, both still seeming more well known, but it was hard to keep things the same when people were spewing profanities during the other sets. “Fuck off, wanker!” Teds yelled from the crowd, causing Chris to contemplate pulling out of the tour all together. John didn’t help, always riling up the audience once they finally got on stage with encouraging words and dance moves. 

“Jesus John, do yeh want the others to fuck off back to the states?” Paul scolded after a particularly bad night. The former had said, ‘Let’s show ‘em what Britain’s all about, ey?’ in an adrenaline induced haze, thus creating a mad hysteria in the crowd and Tommy’s manager to have some stern words with John after the show. 

“It was just a joke Macca, you’re all such tighties.” He said, looking defensively at the other, unimpressed band members. “What?”

“Do you want this to go well John, or is it just some kind of joke to you?” Robin asked with a scowl. “It doesn’t matter how well you can gear up a crowd if we don’t have one to play to.” She muttered, leaving the dressing room to go grab a drink and leaving the conversation that ensued in the following minutes.

That was a week ago and things had settled down a bit since then. It was still tense at breakfast when the three managers liked to have discussions involving ‘the whole battalion,’ but it was typically smooth sailing, at least for Robin. She knew John had gotten an earful from George and Paul a few times, the younger boys lacking his unwavering self confidence, as well as a warning from Brian to only say things if he would also say them to the Queen (a dangerous thing to say to John, who aggravated the man by addressing him as Your Majesty). That day was an interview for some magazine in light of their album being released that day, and Robin wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. Radio interviews were always short, sharp, to the point, the same questions every time. ‘So are you  _ all  _ from Liverpool?’ ‘Where did the haircuts come from?’ ‘Do you write the songs?’. Then it would be over and they’d move on, journalists not bothered to cut out bits of tape before airing, so the questions left little room for misinterpretation or piss taking. Magazines however, they were transcribed. The questions could be longer, more diverse, more...invasive. Robin was worried about her questions especially, considering her role in the band as the only female, but she was sure they’d be professional. 

“Champagne breakfast this mornin’, heard Eppy was stockin’ up last night.” Paul said as he joined Robin walking towards the elevator, the rest of the boys not far behind. 

“Who’d you hear that from, John?” She replied, secretly hoping he was right. The man in question, plus George, hopped into the lift with big smiles on their faces.

“I ‘eard my name?” John said with a cheeky grin, face lighting up.

“‘Parrently you’ve been rumour mongering, hmm.”

“S’not rumours if they’re true, just facts.” He said matter-a-factly, the lift lowering floor by floor with a soundtrack of gentle jazz. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Robin replied just as the doors opened with a ding and Brian, champagne and all, could be seen in the dining room through reception’s glass doors. 

“How could you have known that, how?” She happily accused, the promise of alcohol washing over her mild embarrassment. 

“Great minds think alike, doubter.”

The group speedily entered the hall and sat down, not even grabbing breakfast before Brian popped the cork off and filled each glass with the bubbly liquid. “Good morning boys, Robin, how’d you sleep?” 

“Great.”

“Superb.”

“Never better.

“Gloriously.” George finished off the list as he took a sip and leant back in his chair. 

“Well, you deserve it, people queueing outside the shops this morning just to get their hands on your album.” Brian complimented with a smile, drinking from his own glass. The other two performers were nowhere to be seen, probably avoiding the band at all costs on a morning that was all about them. The four began to chat about the day’s proceedings as Robin just sat and listened. She was perfectly content to sit back and let others take the lead, having never been much of a leader herself, and she was still fantasising about the various questions that could be asked later on in the day. They finished up breakfast with a few bites to eat and some more champagne before being set free into Doncaster for a few hours before the interview and their show. 

“Whatcha wanna do?” George asked Robin as they dumped their plates and headed out the front door of the hotel. 

“Dunno, have a bit of a wander, I guess.” She replied as John and Paul ran up behind them.

“There’s a film showin’ round the corner that we’re gonna watch, wanna come with?” John said, already walking ahead with Paul. 

“Yeah, alright.” They answered, walking side by side until they reached the cinema. The pair were once again hand in hand and staying so until seated in the movie when Robin moved to lean on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her; it was always freezing at the pictures and George provided a much needed warmth. The film had something to do with rugby and while the boys didn’t play, they at least understood the game. Robin, on the other hand, was bored out of her mind, the only thing keeping her awake being the underlying love story, as cliche as that sounds. It wasn’t that she didn’t like movies targeted towards men, but there was a certain tone to them that never really appealed to her. She didn’t know if it was the show-off tendencies held by many of the characters or if she just didn’t enjoy watching a bunch of men talk and fight, but it all got a bit boring after a while. 

An hour passed of Robin imagining all the other things she could be doing, then remembering she was in Doncaster, until the lights went up and the mostly empty audience stood up to leave. “Well, that was-” Paul started.

“God awfully boring, rugby should’ve never been invented.” George cut in, stretching his arms above his head and closing his eyes in a long yawn. 

“Did someone get tackled a few too many times?” Robin teased, tickling his stomach.

“Oi, I wasn’t the one who was half asleep 20 minutes in.” He quipped back, grabbing her wrists and wrapping her arms around herself so that he stood behind her, head on top of hers. Discarded popcorn crunched underneath her boots as they left the darkened room and emerged back into daylight where they walked back to the hotel. The interview wouldn’t take place for a few more hours but Brian was a pedant about sticking to schedules and wanted them at the venue with plenty of time to spare. 

“Yeh want a choccy?” George offered Robin once the others were out of earshot, producing a small cellophane bag from his jacket pocket. 

“Of course, where’d you get those from?” She said, unwrapping the foil.

“Nicked ‘em from the last hotel.” He boasted with a chocolate in his mouth.

“Mr Harrison, why on Earth would you do such a thing?” Robin gasped with a fake southern accent muffled by the creamy confectionary. 

“‘Cos I felt like it.” George smiled. Robin poked the apple of his cheeks with her knuckle and gave him a sugary kiss on the cheek as a thank you, moving her eyes to the path in front of her as to not see his reaction. The boy’s face flushed like a pack of cards and he hastily shoved the packet back in his pocket and they re-entered the building. Brian sat with a deep frown and a thoughtful expression while using reception’s phone and the creases between his brows only seemed to grow more indented by the second. 

“Yes, alright yes I s’pose that’ll have to do. Okay, see you when I see you.” The older man put down the receiver and rubbed his hands over his eyes and the band contemplated whether it was worth it to ask him what had happened. “Bit of a change of plans, we’ve got to head to the venue as soon as possible, they’ve realised they’d double booked and want us there an hour early. Go on, grab your things and be outside in 15 minutes.” 

“I reckon we just pull a no-show and let them suffer.” Robin scoffed as she waited outside the boys’ room for them to gather their guitars and miscellaneous items that  _ had  _ to be brought to every show. (“You really should wash that shirt, Paul.” “Yeah, I will. When we get back.” “You’re disgusting.”)

“So cold Binny, so cold.” John’s voice sounded from deep inside a guitar case, double and triple checking he had everything he needed. Soon, they headed back down to the lobby and into the car, Robin’s overactive imagination running circles as they drove down the emptied streets. Most people were at work or school at this time on a Friday, so she didn’t find it odd to see the town’s shopping district largely void of shoppers. The entrance to the cinema (a different one this time) was hidden underneath a large awning, and the movies playing were displayed in large plastic letters above their heads, the likes of which would be replaced by the Beatles for that night. The maroon carpet felt too firm and crusty under Robin’s boots, likely the product of years of spilt drinks and snacks, and the air was coated with a layer of popcorn odour. It was hard to feel famous when you were performing in a place filled with so much childhood nostalgia. 

“Hello, hello, so sorry about the change of time. You lot must be the Beatles, correct?” A bespectacled man in a tan tweed jacket called from a corner set up in an interview sort of style. There were two lounges, an armchair (presumably for the wiry interviewer) and a love seat type lounge, probably made to seat on two or three (considering the boys’ bony bottoms) people. 

“Yes, that would be them.” Brian cut in before any sarcastic remark could be made. The young musicians looked at each other apprehensively before taking their spots. John, Paul and George sat down on the cushioned part of the couch while Robin, once again delegated the worst spot due to her size, sat on the arm furthest away from the journalist. They fussed around for a few more seconds until the older man coughed and set down a tape recording on the small table. 

“So, just a few things before we get started. I’m Alan Smith, a musical reporter from New Musical Express, and this is just going to be a little interview to promote your album. I’ll ask you a couple of questions and feel free to answer how ever you like, but be warned, everything you say will be recorded.” Smith detailed, attempting a joke that only Paul somewhat chuckled at, but it was less of a laugh and more of an exhale of air through his nose. “Any questions?”

“Isn’t that your job?” John smartly remarked, Robin trying to cover up her giggles and having to cough instead. The older man uncomfortably smiled and nodded his head a bit, pressing down the red button and beginning the interview, tape running in circles in the small plastic box. 

“So, just so we clear this up, and I have your voices on tape, please say your full names, loud and clear.” The rest of the interview continued in the same dull fashion, only sparking up when one of them would make a dry comment about something or other, only to be dampened down by the media trained writer. When he started asking about personal relationships though, that’s when it got interesting. 

“And do any of you have, well,  _ significant others _ in your lives?” The band collectively shook their heads, even John, who had been instructed to keep his marriage under wraps as to not ruin the available image that was shown to young fans across the country. 

“Now, I find that hard to believe, a group of young, attractive rock stars like yourselves, you must have people flinging themselves at you.” He grinned slyly, diverting his eyes to Robin in a lingering gaze that didn’t go unnoticed by the other boys who leapt to distract him from the young girl.

“We’re just a bit busy for all tha’ stuff, yeh know? Writin’, recordin’, tourin’, don’t know a bird out there who would want to put up with it all, not really.” Paul commented vaguely, well aware of John’s predicament in not wanting to seem too defensive nor too cluey about his relationship. 

“And you George, youngest in the group, you really don’t have your eyes on anyone?” George resisted the temptation to flick his eyes to the girl on his left, her leg brushing against his own, instead letting his cheeks heat up and face become bashful.

“Ah, no, no I don’t, it’s a bit ‘ard to get a good look from up on the stage, yeh know.” He joked, the interviewer still seeming persistent. 

“But Ringo, surely you’ve got a boyfriend, secret husband even?” She resisted rolling her eyes at the irony. “Most girls your age are getting married, 20, 21, 22, and having kids by 23.” He looked all too eager to be discussing the topic of marriage with her, and she shifted on her perch awkwardly. 

“Just haven’t found the right bloke, I s’pose, and besides, I’ll have plenty of time for that later on, when I’ve figured out what I want to do and all that borin’ stuff.” She answered diplomatically. Despite this, Robin could tell Smith wasn’t letting up.

“But, assuming you lot keep on growing, which is what it looks like at the moment, you’ll have to do that all while being in the band. Do you think your husband would be okay with that?”

“If I’m gonna marry a man who's not alright with it, then I probably shouldn’t’ve married ‘im in the first place now, should I?” She said sarcastically, trying to keep her light hearted, joking tone consistent, even with her growing frustrations. 

“Well, then, that really brings us on to the next topic then, doesn’t it.” The interviewer said, shuffling his papers around. “Do you think there are any challenges you face, or will face, being the only female in the band?” His face looked expectant, as if the question he asked was perfectly reasonable considering the questions he’d just asked.

“Other than being asked about my plans for having children, and being expected to maintain the perfect balance between house wife and drummer at some point in the future, no, I don’t see any challenges.” Robin answered pointedly, and he swiftly moved onto the next mundane topic, taking only another 10 minutes before the interview was over, and the floodgates were released as soon as he left the building, briefcase in hand. 

“God, I really am going to shoot the next man who thinks I’m some sort of alien for being in a band, it’s infuriating.” She ranted, standing up to get a drink of water.

“It wasn’t that bad, Binny, the lad just ‘ad a crush on yeh, is all.” John said, defending the older man.

“He was old enough to be my father, John, isn’t that an issue in of itself?” She replied, water in hand and sat across the armchair with her back of one arm and legs dangling over the other. 

“He’s got a point, Ringo, ‘e wasn’t askin’ yeh anything too out of the ordinary, just whether yeh had a boyfriend or not.” Paul added on.

“So just because he wasn’t blatantly insulting me like all the other horrible men you think are so awful, it’s okay?” Robin asked rhetorically, sitting up straight in her chair with her arms and legs crossed, looking at the three boys, face on. George was yet to voice his opinions, but he looked as if it would stay that way for the rest of the conversation. 

“He didn’t ask yeh if yeh were shaggin’ the rest of us, or try and give yeh directions to yeh drums, I don’t think he was that bad.” John finished off the boys’ argument, waiting for rebuttal from the girls team, population 1.

“Okay, imagine this John. You’re in a group of women, being interviewed by a woman. The rest of the girls are bein’ asked normal, nice questions, and then the interviewer looks at you and says ‘John, how do you think your wife feels that you’re never at home? Don’t you think you ought to ask her if she’s okay with you bein’ in the band?’ And all the birds around you say nothin’, and you’ve got your reasons, but it’s too hard to explain ‘em to a woman who already thinks you’re rotten. Then after, the girls say, ‘Oh John, she just had a crush on you.’ That’s what it’s like.”

The boys looked at her with blank faces before Brian came over and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to be comforting. “I think it’s just the wrong time of the month ‘ey Ringo.”

At this, Robin couldn’t stay in the room, knowing she’d say something awful to him. She knew he was gay, they all did, but she didn’t want to bring it up just to be used as a quick comeback. Instead, she stood up and stormed out of the lobby in a huff, scoffing, “God, all of you are the same.” 

She walked out the front glass doors and turned the corner to be met with a queue of mostly young girls lined up behind the box office, waiting for tickets. A few gasped and pointed when she turned the corner. 

“Look, it’s Ringo. Hello!” One girl in a school uniform waved, her school satchel lying abandoned on the ground near her feet. Heads spun around to face the girl and then Robin, any boys in the line crowd getting particularly excited.

“Hello, how d’you do?” Robin asked as she walked up to a group of fans at the front of the line.

“We’re very well, thank yeh. Would yeh, um, would yeh mind signin’ me album? I just bought it before I came here and thought I might get lucky.” A girl with sleek brown hair asked, the coif looking uncannily similar to Robin’s own.

“Of course darlin’, should I leave room for the others or d’ya want your name on it?” She asked, a pen and record having been thrust into her hand. She could see excited faces peeking at her from the rest of the line, most too nervous to say anything else. 

“Oh, um, I don’t really, well, I just want yer signature, me name’s Mary, if yeh’d like to put that on there. I, well, this is a bit embarassin’, but I figure yeh’ll be alright. I think yer lovely, yeh know.” The young girl said the last part in a hushed voice, all too aware of the prying gazes behind her. She gave her an adoring look and instantly Robin knew  _ exactly _ what she meant.

“That’s very nice to hear, Mary, and, don’t tell anyone I said this, but I’m sure you’ll find a lass one day who’s even lovelier than me, if you know what I mean.” Robin replied in an equally quiet voice, the girl’s face going red before the drummer moved down the rest of the short line, it still being a few hours until the show would begin. She gave out a few kisses on cheeks to some bright eyed, hopeful lads who were about her age, laughing as they tried to woo her in rushed attempts before she headed back inside, nearly 30 minutes later. 

“It was fun talking to you all.” She announced loudly as she re-entered the building in a much better mood than when she left it. George was still sitting on the lounge reading a magazine, but there appeared to be no one else nearby, so Robin plonked herself down next to him and lay her head in his lap, feet stretched out and splayed out. He promptly folded up the glossy pages and lay them down on the floor, his hands not seeing anywhere appropriate to rest so instead reaching out and resting on the back of the couch. 

“Hello little suffragette, what’ve yeh been up to?” George teased with a smile on his face, relieved to see the girl in one piece and in a better mood than she was before.

“Just talkin’ to some people lined up outside, they’re all quite nice to be honest. It’s still mad that they’re queueing up to see us, innit?” She said with a dreamy look on her face, staring lazily into George’s eyes. She’d never noticed how well his eyes matched his hair before, like a contrasting colour palette with dark brown and peachy beige, a speckled mixture splashed across his face in a light wash of freckles. 

“It is a bit, yeh know what else is mad? I think John actually feels bad about what he said.” George said in a semi-sarcastic tone, having already had a couple of frustrating conversations with the man in question after Robin left. 

“Okay, sure, that’ll be the day.” She said, rolling her blue eyes in a full 360° before coming back to the face above her. 

“No, really, heard ‘im talkin’ to Brian about it and everythin’. I shouldn’t’a been eavesdropping but I couldn’t help meself.” Robin was about to respond when she heard her name being called from the doorway to a room off the main entrance. 

“Binny, could I talk to yeh for a second?” John asked tentatively.

“Speak of the devil.” She said under her breath, patting George’s thigh as she stood up and walked towards the older boy who had the decency to look a bit embarrassed. 

“Well now, don’t give me that look, I’m tryin’.” John began, put off by the girl’s expectant gaze and crossed arms. “It’s just, yeh know I care about yeh Binny, an’ I’m not very good with feelin’s and that, but I don’t like seein’ yeh upset. S’pose I was just tryna make yeh feel better, in a way.” He admitted, even the frank quasi-apology seeming difficult for him to muster up. She put a hand on his arm and gave it a little squeeze, accompanied by a comforting smile. 

“It’s alright John, I’m not gonna rip your head off, and it’s not your fault that some men are just a bit old fashioned.”

“M sorry I stood up for that wanker, really, I am. I thought about what yeh said, and yer right. I don’t think I would’ve been as calm as yeh if ‘e said those things to me.” John grinned, and Robin knew that it was a thing of the past now.

“All water under the bridge then, ay?” She laughed as the headed back into the main room, Paul now sitting with George on the couch, talking in muffled voices.

“‘Ey, Binny, yeh know I didn’t mean to upset yeh, right? Just didn’t want yeh to get angry, s’all.” Paul explained, Robin chuckling at the similar accounts from both John and Paul.

“You boys and your emotions, I feel sorry for the women who’ve had to go out with you.” 

“‘S’not our fault yer a bit confusin’!” Paul exclaimed defensively before being pinched in the side by George as to stop another argument in a similar vein as they last one. 

“Lads, Robin, it’s time for a bit of a soundcheck. I got some food for you as well.” Brian called from the theatre’s entry, the group standing up and heading down onto the stage. They threaded through the seats and aisles until they could jump up and get ready to play. Robin had a few difficulties until George squatted down and gave her a hand from his higher position, her skirt almost ripping in the clamber up onto the platform.

“You know there are stairs, right?” Brian said in a disapproving voice as all four heads turned to see a small staircase on the side of the stage.

“Oops.” Robin said cheekily before settling down behind her drums and whipping out a loud solo, hyper for no apparent reason but loving the fact that the rest of the band had to be plugged in to be heard at the same volume. 

“Shut up would yeh?” John yelled and she just laughed. 

“Don’t you know, it’s Starr time John.” 

“Right now it’s Lennon time until we can all be that loud, keep those sticks in yer lap.” He clapped back, the other three chuckling at his expense. 

By the time they had sound-checked, eaten and gotten dressed and ready for the show, Robin was more energetic than ever, practically bouncing in her seat backstage during the other two sets. She wasn’t exactly sure why, maybe it was talking to all those people outside and seeing them happy to see her, but she felt more excited than usual at the prospect of playing. 

They strutted out onto the stage and the crowd erupted with screams, Robin blowing a kiss at one boy who’s sign read, ‘I  ♡ Ringo’, and the cheers got even louder. She’d never played such a good show in her life, the smile on her face never wearing off, not even when a girl tried to throw something at Paul that was grossly miss-judged and landed right in her face instead. Luckily it was something soft, so she could continue drumming her heart out. In between songs she had felt the need to remove her jacket, and doing so elicited cheers and whistles from the male segment of the crowd. It reached the portion of the show where John would move his microphone over to her drums and she would play a short solo as the guitars continued, evoking more yelling from the audience. Robin was on top of the world, and it felt  _ good _ to know people her cheering for her, screaming her name.

In the blink of an eye, the show was over and they took their bows, quickly exiting the stage as the lights went up in the theatre and people started leaving. 

“That was one cracker of a show lads, really, it was. Mind if we steal away yer bird for a minute or two?” A couple of older men asked, cutting in front of Brian to reach the band before he could. They looked warily at the two and Brian just looked confused, but Robin was on such an adrenaline rush that she agreed and promised to be back soon to go out for drinks before hitting the hay. 

“How can I help you?” She asked, re-donning her jacket and tucking her drumsticks into the deep pocket.

“Love, we’ll cut right to the chase. We’re both producers at a studio up in Leeds, and we wanted to come down and see what yer band is all about, you in particular. Yer a great lass on the drums and we figure the boys in the band are takin’ most of yeh paycheque, so we thought yeh might consider comin’ up to be a full time session drummer in the studio.” Robin had to refrain from dropping her jaw and instead widened her eyes, mind racing a hundred miles a minute. 

“I really-” She attempted to decline, swiftly being interrupted by the other, equally as persistent man.

“No, before yeh can answer think it over for a bit, ‘ere’s our number, give us a call when yeh’ve decided yeh wanna do it. ‘Ave a good rest o’ yeh night, love!” And just like that, the two were gone as suddenly as they appeared. Robin just crumpled up the card and put it in her pocket, the offer already out of her mind. Leave the Beatles? She wasn’t  _ insane. _ It didn’t take a genius to see they were going places, and even if it was tough, she still wouldn’t leave her best friends, as soppy as it sounds. 

“What was that all about?” George asked as Robin joined him in the green room, the group having left side stage for a less cramped space to debrief. The show had gone well and Brian didn’t feel the need to stick around to speak to Robin about it, already gone to do whatever he got up to after shows before they left the venue. 

“Oh nothin’, some crap about a recordin’ studio.” The pair quickly packed up their belongings and headed out the door with Paul and John, dumping everything in the car and strolling to the nearest pub. Booze and smoke could be smelt from all the way down the street, and Robin couldn’t help but feel tired after her enthusiastic performance, just now remembering how tired she’d felt during the movie as well. 

“Y’alright there Binny?” George asked, finger tracing soothing shapes on her shoulder as the entered the bar. 

“Fine, just a bit knackered.” She said with a yawn, eyes and nose scrunching up. She let out a little burp and her eyes shot open to see if anyone had noticed, only to see George’s face smiling with ridicule. “Not a single word Harrison, not a word.”

The four nabbed a booth and John went to order a round of drinks, leaving the three youngest at the table. “Yeh played really well tonight Ringo, Brian said to pass on the word.” Paul complimented, his cheeks smooshed between the palms they were resting on. 

“Well that’s nice of him, sure it’s not just you but your too embarrassed to say so?” She teased, squeezing his cheeks with her short fingers. 

“Never, yer always shit in my opinion.” He retorted with a smile on his face. 

“I feel so loved.” Robin claimed dramatically and leaned into George’s shoulder. Paul gave them a knowing smile and the two shot up in their seats immediately, subconsciously scooting apart. 

“What’s that look for, ey?” George accused just as John set their drinks on the table.

“Now, now children, we’re here to celebrate, not kill each other. Move yer fat arse over Macca.” John mocked as he sat down with his beer. “To the album.” He toasted modestly. 

“To the album.” The others repeated, clinking their glasses together and spilling alcohol on the table. A drop ran down the side of Robin’s cup and she promptly put it down and licked the liquid off her fingers in a somewhat unladylike way. George felt like a creep as his eyes unknowingly flicked back and forth from his drink to her mouth, but he couldn’t help himself. One by one, she removed her rings from her fingers and wiggled the digits around, wiping them on a (lightly used) napkin.

“I never asked yeh, why do yeh wear all them rings?” Paul questioned from his seat diagonal to Robin’s.

“Dunno, just like ‘em. Plus, why’d you say ‘all them,’ there are only 4 for Christ’s sake.” She replied as she gulped down half her beer in one go, surprisingly dehydrated from the show.

“Well, yer name is  _ ring _ -o, love.” George teased as he picked one up and tried to put it on his pinky but failing miserably when it would only slide half way down. 

“My name is Robin, actually.” She jokingly replied, face inching closer to his with every crack she made. Paul and John could see that the two were off in their own little world and began their own conversation about this, that and the other, limiting themselves in the drinking sphere due to their growing exhaustion. The four ensconced themselves in a blanket of calm in amongst the rowdy pub, and didn’t even notice as the time flew by. What seemed like minutes later, they were up again and out into the night, soon hopping into Brian’s car and back to the hotel, where they would sleep for less time than they needed to and continue onto the next city the morning after. Some days they would start driving straight after the show, but they figured Brian had given them the night off as a congratulations for their first album. ‘An album, Jesus’ Robin thought to herself, ‘A real, proper album.’ It all seemed a bit surreal, to be honest. 

The group headed down the corridor towards their rooms, Robin anticipating the moment she had to split off from the group and go her separate way. 

“Yeh comin’ in George?” Paul asked as he held the door to their room open.

“Yeah, just gimme a second.” George replied, the door swinging shut. 

“What hallway business do you have to attend to at such an hour of the night, might I ask?” Robin said in an overly posh accent.

“Just walkin’ yeh home.” The boy joked as they both looked at her door then back at each other.

“Okay, well, this is my stop. G’night Georgie.” Robin said, reaching up on her tiptoes to plop a kiss on his cheek.

“Night Binny.” George copied, repeating her action before turning around swiftly with pink cheeks and closing the door behind him, leaving Robin in the hallway to battle her emotions alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woohoo, we love a bit of indirect sexism. my hot theory (even tho im the writer? i have issues) is that the reason the boys dont rlly get why robin's upset is cos she tried to keep it chill. when it was more in your face she didnt get a chance to do that because the lads were instantly like 'you wanna Go' so yeh lolol
> 
> also can they just stop beating around the bush and fuck already god Damn. george gave our girl chocolate like they are In Love. stay tuned for less tour shit and more domestic character shit in the next few chaps as well, things are about to get real fucking fluffy
> 
> tell me what u ~thought~, i felt like this chap had some weird pacing but i couldnt quite pinpoint it so i couldnt fix it sozzles
> 
> also side note ive never been to doncaster obvies so idk if it's boring place but it worked for that one line of the chapter lol


	6. mother knows best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> little julian lennon is born and the topic of kids is in the air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's been a While lol but I'm Back!!
> 
> i tried to make this lest 'tour-y' cos that's been like all the chapters lol

**8 April, 1963**

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Are yeh fuckin’ jokin’ right now?” Robin groggily opened her eyes to be met with darkness, her blurry blinking punctuated by flowing profanities from down the hall. The voice was instantly recognisable as John’s, and she stumbled out the door and knocked on that of the boys’. By the time George’s bed head and tired smile greeted her from within the room, the swearing had de-escalated to mild hysteria, John sitting on his bed spewing anxious phrases at Paul, the latter stuck in a sleep-deprived haze. 

“What’s this all ‘bout then?” Robin whispered to George. John really did look as if he was made of fractured glass that would shatter if breathed around too loudly. His eyes were wide and knuckles white as they clutched onto his pillow and the receiver hung off the bedside table, curly cord stretched in an effort to keep it off the ground. 

“Cyn’s gone into labour. Mimi just called to let him know.” George muttered back, his eyes also focused on the trainwreck of a man. 

“Bloody hell.” Silence settled over the room, the newest father retreating back into his own thoughts to continue panicking privately. It wasn’t out of place for John to squash his feelings down until they wouldn’t bother him anymore, but Robin knew if he was overwhelmed now without having even met the damn baby then it would only get worse. The child’s life was going to be strange and hard enough without dysfunctional parents. “Hey John.” Robin mimicked his position and crossed her legs on the bed next to him. 

“Mmm.” John only mumbled in response, his eyes fixated on some invisible spot on the wall, as if the peeling beige paint could block out the world outside the hotel.

“You wanna talk about it?” 

“No, not really.” His voice cracked, tears welling up and threatening to teeter over his lashes. Paul and George locked eyes with Robin, both looking scared of what could happen. She motioned towards the door with her head and they hastily shuffled out of the room. 

“John, you might not feel like it right now, but you’ll be a good dad. Really, I promise you.” John sniffled and blinked away the tears, gathering his emotions in a blink of an eye. 

“Yeah, right good dad I’ll be, don’t even know when I’ll be able to see ‘em next. Could be a week. A bloody week after my kid’s born and I won’t ‘ave seen ‘eir face.” He shook his head and stood up before moving back under the covers. John, despite being a father now, had never looked younger. He looked scared, small under the duvet and as if he could break at any minute. Deciding that any further help she would want to give him would probably end in a shouting match, the likes of which would get them torn to shreds by the hotel manager, Robin gave his shoulder a squeeze and promised to bring back the other boys, walking out of the room feeling worse than when she went in. The moon peaked in through the hallway curtains and reminded her of the fact that it was about 3am and they were meant to be up again in 4 hours to drive to London. 

“Hey, Ringo, d’yeh think we should go back in yet?” Paul asked, his brown eyes looking up at her from where the pair sat, backs against her door. George seemed concerned, his eyebrows were furrowed and the lines in his forehead only got more prominent the longer she took to answer.

“If you like, maybe just act as if he’s asleep though, probably for the best if we just leave him alone.” George only got more crumpled at this, his nose even sporting a few wrinkles. Robin felt bad that she found it cute, considering the situation.

“‘Aight, see yeh in a few hours then.” The boys re-entered their room, but before the door could close behind them, George turned to look back at Robin, only to find a pair of blue eyes also looking back at him, soon accompanied with a deep blush and hasty door slam (on both parts). 

  
  


3 days had passed and, understandably, John’s child (a little boy named Julian, as was revealed later at a less offensive hour of the day) was all he could talk about. Whether they were eating breakfast, practicing or sitting in traffic, John always had something to say about his son. The others tried to hold their tongues, but it was hard not to shut him down when, two seconds after being herded off stage, he starts with “Wonder if Jules woulda liked that.”

The day had finally come to see the baby of the hour, and John was buzzing. When he wasn’t waxing poetic about the colour of Julian’s eyes or the shape of his nose, he was whistling like a jolly old man with his head stuck out the car window. At this point they could all afford to buy cars, but were hardly ever home to drive them anyways so the idea seemed frivolous. Compared to occasionally riding in the back of the van, Brian’s car was a luxury. 

“Alright Mr Pink-Whistle, are you gonna settle down or just crush the baby when yeh see it?” Paul said as he pinched John in the side. The older boy whacked him upside the head in retaliation, rolling his eyes at the younger’s ignorance to the situation. 

“If you’d knocked up a lass and were about to see your son, I think you’d be pretty happy too, so lay off it Macca.” Brian chimned in from the front, his head facing them as he reversed parked into the hospital's lot.

“Eppy, if I’d knocked up a girl, whistling would be the last thing on my mind.” Paul began cackling at John’s expense with the help of George, and together they ran-skipped all the way to the front doors. 

“Don’t listen to ‘em John.” Robin reassured.

“Hmm?” The girl had to scoff at John’s head up in the clouds, but smiled at his excitement nevertheless. It was a complete 180° from his attitude earlier that day and Robin assumed it was a few more hours of sleep and a few more hours to think about his impending fatherhood. The group entered the hospital and were shepherded up into the escalator and down towards Cynthia’s room, leaving Brian to wait in the foyer. Nurses and doctors turned to look as the band walked down the sanitised corridors and by the time the door shut on the private room, a small crowd had formed outside. 

“Hello, love.” John greeted his wife with a short peck on the lips, the two naturally relaxing around the other as John settled himself on the bed. The other three found spots on the hard carpet floor and watched awkwardly, waiting for their chance to hold the baby. Robin couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever find someone who would look at her the way Cynthia and John looked at eachother. She also had to force herself to not look over at George, somehow thinking about having children with a man was a more invasive daydream than just fantasizing about his face. 

“Reckon yeh’ll have kids one day Paul?” George quizzed as he stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles over each other.

“Oh yeah, probably, I mean, ‘aven’t really thought that far ahead. Haven’t got anyone to have ‘em with at the moment either.” The boy looked a bit sorry for himself, and Robin could see his gaze lingering on the small boy situated in John’s arms.

“Yer only 20 mate, give the ladies of England some time.” George replied with a playful punch to the shoulder. Paul laughed in response and seemed to put it behind him, not wanting to bring down the mood of the room. Before George could ask Robin the same question, one that would surely lay all her cards down on the table and cause her to profess whatever these feelings were that she felt whenever they made eye contact or held hands or even just sat next to each other at a table, John remembered the presence of his bandmates in the room and invited them all for a cuddle (with the baby). Her feelings for George were less than convenient, considering they spent almost everyday together, but she would just have to suck it up and play it off.

“I wanna go first, the next time I’ll hold a baby will be after I’ve pushed one out of me, so I wanna enjoy it.” Robin said, standing up hastily and moving towards the bed.

“Did we need that much detail Binny?” George joked, but never gained a smart alec comment in reply as Robin was too infatuated with the small child in her arms. His little brown eyes looked up at her and his small fist wrapped around her pointer finger, poking and toying with the silver ring that resided there. She tickled his tummy and he made a soft gurgling noise that melted her heart like butter on toast.

“Aren’t you just the cutest, huh? Much cuter than your dad.” Robin cooed towards Julian.

“Oi, give ‘im to someone else before yeh corrupt ‘im.” John said with a smile on his face. Robin was pretty sure that in this moment nothing could bring him down off cloud nine. She carefully passed the baby into George’s arms, and then immediately had to give him a lesson on holding said baby.

“Geo, he came out of the womb 3 days ago, you really think he can hold his head up by himself?”

“Dunno, never held a baby before.” 

“Really, I couldn’t tell.”

“Hey!”

The rest of the room just smiled at the oblivious pair, off in their own domestic little world that neither wanted to leave. Robin’s hand had never left from under the baby's head, and she was still using her other to play with the little boy’s hands, so they really did look like a married couple. Paul broke them out of their love-stricken stupor by loudly clearing his throat and demanded that ’baby-time’ be shared equally.

“Don’t call it that Paul, yeh sound like a pedophile.” Cynthia spoke up from her hospital bed, looking tired yet elated. The rest laughed at Paul’s expense and watched as he whispered softly to the baby, his eyes not leaving the boy’s face. 

All of a sudden, a sharp knock on the door caused all 5 heads to whip towards the sound, and the group saw an irritated doctor surrounded by nurses trying to get a look in at the band. Word must’ve spread throughout the ward that they were there. At least Cynthia would probably get treated a little bit nicer after they left. “I’ll see yeh and Jules a bit later then, love.” John said as he placed Julian back into his cot and gave Cynthia a kiss on the cheek. 

“See yeh then.” She smiled in return and gave the rest of them a sleepy wave while they were guided out of the room and back down to the foyer, where Brian sat reading a newspaper. He folded the paper and stood up, Robin noticing for the first time the way his eyes lingered on John. They all knew about his homosexual nature, but it had never occured to her before that he might love one of the boys. She was probably just reading too much into it anyway. 

“Oh, Eppy, forgot to tell yeh mate, we’ve made yeh Julian’s godfather.” John commented nonchalantly. Brain’s face seemed to buffer for a second until he could school it into the emotion of pleasant surprise, looking back for a split second as he led them out the front doors and back to the car.

“Well John, can’t say ‘m all that shocked but thank you.” Noises of protest erupted from the other two godfather candidates who were now seated in the back of the car, unable to cause any physical harm due to the restrictions of the seatbelt.

“What’s that s’posed to mean, aye? I’d be a right good godfather.” Paul exclaimed defensively.

“What about me?!” George added.

“Georgie, you almost broke his neck.” Robin said condescendingly, finding the very worked up boys quite amusing and wanting to make it last for as long as possible. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t, did I?”

“Well, I didn’t almost break it, I held him proper like a godfather.”

“But yeh’re not a godfather so-”

“I didn’t say I was now did I?”

“Well I mean-”

“Ladies,” Brian cut in, “Would you like to return to each other's necks or shall you get out of the car and go get changed for the show?” Robin hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped, too invested in the petty yet entertaining argument happening on the seats next to her. “Oh, Robin, this morning a package came for you. It’s from your mum.” She didn’t know her mum even knew what she was doing, let alone where she was staying but besides the point, she didn’t know Elsie even still cared. When she was younger, her mother hovered like a dragonfly above her head, always there to look out for her constantly ill daughter. When she started leaving to play shows at 17, it was as if a switch flipped and suddenly she wasn’t her mother’s responsibility anymore. Robin always thought that it was because her mother realised that she hadn’t really focused on much else for 17 years, distracting herself from her somewhat underwhelming quality of life by coddling her daughter. One night, they had a huge row, screaming and swearing and what not. Her stepfather Harry stayed out of it, understanding that something of this genre had been in the making since long before he stepped into the picture. 

Ever since then, her mother was somewhat of a ghost. Robin essentially lived alone in her family house, as whenever she got home they were all asleep and whenever she woke up they were out at work. On the odd occasion that all three were in the house and conscious and the same time, she would get nothing more than a good morning from Harry and an avoided gaze from Elsie. Robin stopped calling her mum when she stopped being treated like a daughter. “Well, that’s nice of her innit.” Paul said, the extended silence from the usually happy girl making everyone slightly uncomfortable.

“Oh right, yeah. Wonder what Elsie’s up to these days.” Robin replied lightly, her mind clearly lost somewhere else. The boys decided not to push the issue, understanding that sometimes family is the softest topic to talk about. 

They piled into the elevator after Robin was handed a soft brown paper package by the front desk worker. She turned it over in her hands, wondering why her mother chose now to be the time that she would rekindle their relationship. She felt something twist in her stomach as she looked over the familiar handwriting and address on the rear of the bag, and Robin willed herself not to cry. It wasn’t a sad cry, nor a happy one, just a manifestation of every emotion she’d never been able to express towards her mother for the past 3 years. “What d’yeh think it is?” George asked innocently, clearly walking on eggshells around the unusually distracted and emotional girl. 

“Dunno, hope it’s cash.” Robin quipped with a thick laugh. She quickly opened the door to her room, not objecting when George and the others came in with her. Robin decided that it was better for them to be there for her and not just her being there for herself. They sat themselves down on her single bed, George squishing up close to her side in an effort not to fall off the bed. ‘Best friends Binny’ she thought to herself, ‘You’re sitting so close because you’re best friends’. She took a deep breath, noticeably shakier than usual, and carefully ripped along the seam of the package. 

“Well, this is quite lovely isn’t it.” Soft velvet tumbled out from the bag, tufty maroon fabric slipping out onto her lap only to be joined by a small bit of notepaper. The skirt was adorned with ornamental golden buttons and seemed to be the most expensive item of clothing she’d ever owned, second only to a coat her friend gave her that she’d made last for about 5 autumns and winters before it was so threadbare she would catch a cold walking to the shops.

“Your mum’s really got a lot to say sorry for, doesn’t she.” John muttered from where he sat opposite her, admiring the billowing material along with the other boys. They all reached out to feel the skirt and (purposefully or not) left Robin to herself as she opened the piece of notepaper. Inside, there were only two lines written. 

“Saw the skirt you’ve been wearing in the papers and thought you might like a new one. - Love Mum” Robin couldn’t help but laugh. She laughed as she stood up the bed, laughed as she ripped the note paper in half and simmered down to a quiet snicker as she threw the pieces into the bin. The three boys looked at her quizzically, because to be fair, she was acting a touch insane. “Sorry lads, I think my mother’s just trying her luck.” Her bandmates continued looking at Robin with tilted heads and furrowed brows.

“What the hell d’yeh mean Ringo?” Paul spoke up.

“You were all there in the hospital, poor old Elsie’s seen us on the telly and is thinkin’ she’d probably like a new car or house or life for Christmas, so she’s tryna make nice with me. She’s had three years to write an apology, and it’s probably gonna take her another three to do it.” Robin wasn’t laughing anymore. She didn’t really feel like crying either. She wanted to have a new mother, a new father, not a drunk or a stepdad or a band manager, an actual dad. But you don’t choose your family, so she would just have to put up with what she was given. And if that was a beautiful skirt and a group of three boys that would probably take a bullet for her, then so be it. 

“Bin, yeh okay?” John asked. The three had forgotten about the skirt and were looking up at her with worry. 

“Yeah, I am. I will be, anyway. Now how about you all go back and let me put on this lovely skirt in peace, aye?” They grumbled while she shooed them out the door, George looking back one last time to silently ask if she was okay. Robin left him with a muted smile and closed the door, shimmying off her brown cords and replacing them with a pair of stockings and the new skirt, the fabric of which felt like million dollar clouds. Guilt splashed over her for a split second, wondering if it was a wanky move to keep the skirt and ignore her mother. Then again, she couldn’t think of a reason why she would ever say sorry to someone by writing ‘Your old skirt looked shit. Have you thought about considering me as your mother again?’. 

Matching maroon blazer in hand, Robin walked across the hallway and knocked on the door. Being hit with a swift dose of deja vu, George and his grinning face opened the door mid-laugh, soon dropping when he saw the girl standing on the other side. His tie was loose around his neck and his collar and hair were equally as dishevelled, clearly John and Paul had ruffed him up a bit in between them being sent out by Robin and now. His eyes still seemed concerned and locked with Robin’s, as if to ask about the skirt.

“Yeh look nice Ringo.” John said from his chair next to the window. He had his glasses on, a rarity, and seemed to be reading the back of a packet of biscuits.

“Thanks Johnny, may I ask why you’re examining a tin of digestives?” Robin quizzed, slumping down onto one of the beds. 

“Well, Georgie finished them off and I’m trying to find an address. ‘Eard someone in Tesco say that if yeh write to ‘em and say yeh found a hair or somethin’ they send yeh a couple tins for free.” John replied, the red box reflecting onto his face and making him look very jolly. Robin turned to look at George and he had the decency to look sheepish at her inquisitive expression. 

“How many were left?” She asked as George came and sat next to her. She turned towards John and in the process leant her shoulder further into George’s chest, something neither of them were opposed to. His arm came around her shoulders and began poking her knees, the likes of which were tucked up to her chest. 

“Let’s see about that, Paulie woke up and had one with his cuppa, I nabbed some on the way out this morning, so that would leave about, I dunno, 20? 25? Yer boy’s a hungry one I can tell yeh that.” Robin and George blushed in harmony, the occasion of being mistaken as a couple (or teased about it by John and Paul) never had less of an effect on them. One might ask why they never just went out together. And one might never receive an answer for that question.

“To be fair, I woke up too late for breakfast.” George defended. Robin chuckled and gave him a mocking look, one with her eyes rolled back and her mouth pushed downwards, sort of like a mutated old man. He scoffed in return and fell back on the bed, taking the smaller girl with him. They fidgeted around until both were in comfortable positions, just waiting for John to be satisfied with his address hunting so that they could leave. 

“And should I call them and ask how many biscuits are equal to a bacon and egg sandwich? Because somehow I think that it wouldn't be an answer yeh’d want to hear Geo.” John clapped back, sliding his glasses of his face and rubbing the bridge of his nose before putting the tin back down onto a small table and standing up, stretching. Paul, who Robin was only now realising had been napping for the duration of her visit, stirred from his sleep and woke up with a mop of hair all pushed to one side. 

“How about I buy another tin and we can move on, aye?” Paul murmured. Robin was impressed; either Paul was incredibly talented at picking up on conversations  _ or  _ the other two had been arguing since before Paul fell asleep (which, from the look of his crumpled suit, seemed to have been awhile).

“Sounds good. Should we, y’know,  _ go now _ ?” Robin asked semi-impatiently, her foot tapping to the rhythm of  _ From Me To You _ . It was only released that day and she wasn’t too sure about performing it, but whatever the crowd wanted they would get, and apparently the song was getting along with the UK like a house on fire. Just that morning, Paul swore he could hear a bird singing its opening tune, but then again, this was Paul. The four were soon piling into Brian’s car and then out again at the hall, a line having already formed around the corner. Robin could see some of their faces light up as they realised who was there, but this was relatively short lived as they had been guided through the front doors in a split second. 

Promptly they were seated in a dressing room with 15 minutes until the show began. Robin and George sat facing each other on a pea green couch, ankles tangled together in the aftermath of some attempt at wrestling. Paul sat facing the mirror trying to tame his hair into submission, and John had procured the biscuit tin from some Mary Poppins-esque bag and was still trying to find an address. “John, if you haven’t found it by now I don’t think yer ever going to.” Paul snapped, the annoyed grumbles from John eliciting a sharp response. 

“Just because yer willing to sacrifice dozens of biscuits to the goat over there doesn’t mean I am too.” John replied. George had seemingly accepted his new nickname of goat and was very obliging to sit and look at Robin’s smiling face instead of get involved in another biscuit-fueled argument. The two continued squabbling and Robin turned to look back at George.

“I never asked yeh, do yeh want kids?” George asked. Robin felt her face go red, not at the question but at the origin. 

“I mean, yeah one day. It’ll be a bit hard when we’ve got to play shows every night but I s’pose I’ll manage. Could probably hide it for about 4 months and then it would start showin’, then you have to think about who’ll look after ‘im when I’m gone, but yeah I think I’d like a few o’ my own. Julian was too cute, he’s made me soft.” Robin smiled thinking about the little boy, the grin faltering when she looked over and saw John hitting Paul on the shin with the metallic box. He wasn’t ready, that wasn’t a secret, and she couldn’t help but see the scared boy from only a few days ago in John right now. Either John or Julian was going to have to do a lot of growing up fast, and Robin couldn’t help but feel like it was going to be the latter. “Anyway, what about you Georgie?” She shook herself out of her daze and trained her eyes back on George, the boy looking crestfallen at her focus on the older guitarist. 

“I think yeh’d be a great mum.” The red on Robin’s cheeks deepened even further.

“I meant, do you want kids?”

“Oh, uh yeah, I know, I think I do. Only one or two, but it would be nice. Could teach ‘em guitar.” He seemed to be rambling to cover his tracks, but Robin wouldn’t forget what he said. How could she, after growing up with an over controlling primary carer and two other parents who weren’t really counted as such, it felt nice to receive that kind of complement. She was, in lack of a better phrase, positively beaming. 

“You know what George?”

“What?”

“I’ll think you’ll be a proper good dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ommmgg they were Best Friends??!!
> 
> lol sorry next chapter will be like 100% domestic stuff i Promiseeee, im tryna not just do every chapter as car show car hotel sleep lol
> 
> also i just wanna make them kisss bu i have a plan and it's still a ways off so hang in there
> 
> as always let me know if there are any spelling/grammar things and also if you liked it :))


	7. mother knows best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> little julian lennon is born and the topic of kids is in the air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's been a While lol but I'm Back!!
> 
> i tried to make this lest 'tour-y' cos that's been like all the chapters lol

**8 April, 1963**

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Are yeh fuckin’ jokin’ right now?” Robin groggily opened her eyes to be met with darkness, her blurry blinking punctuated by flowing profanities from down the hall. The voice was instantly recognisable as John’s, and she stumbled out the door and knocked on that of the boys’. By the time George’s bed head and tired smile greeted her from within the room, the swearing had de-escalated to mild hysteria, John sitting on his bed spewing anxious phrases at Paul, the latter stuck in a sleep-deprived haze. 

“What’s this all ‘bout then?” Robin whispered to George. John really did look as if he was made of fractured glass that would shatter if breathed around too loudly. His eyes were wide and knuckles white as they clutched onto his pillow and the receiver hung off the bedside table, curly cord stretched in an effort to keep it off the ground. 

“Cyn’s gone into labour. Mimi just called to let him know.” George muttered back, his eyes also focused on the trainwreck of a man. 

“Bloody hell.” Silence settled over the room, the newest father retreating back into his own thoughts to continue panicking privately. It wasn’t out of place for John to squash his feelings down until they wouldn’t bother him anymore, but Robin knew if he was overwhelmed now without having even met the damn baby then it would only get worse. The child’s life was going to be strange and hard enough without dysfunctional parents. “Hey John.” Robin mimicked his position and crossed her legs on the bed next to him. 

“Mmm.” John only mumbled in response, his eyes fixated on some invisible spot on the wall, as if the peeling beige paint could block out the world outside the hotel.

“You wanna talk about it?” 

“No, not really.” His voice cracked, tears welling up and threatening to teeter over his lashes. Paul and George locked eyes with Robin, both looking scared of what could happen. She motioned towards the door with her head and they hastily shuffled out of the room. 

“John, you might not feel like it right now, but you’ll be a good dad. Really, I promise you.” John sniffled and blinked away the tears, gathering his emotions in a blink of an eye. 

“Yeah, right good dad I’ll be, don’t even know when I’ll be able to see ‘em next. Could be a week. A bloody week after my kid’s born and I won’t ‘ave seen ‘eir face.” He shook his head and stood up before moving back under the covers. John, despite being a father now, had never looked younger. He looked scared, small under the duvet and as if he could break at any minute. Deciding that any further help she would want to give him would probably end in a shouting match, the likes of which would get them torn to shreds by the hotel manager, Robin gave his shoulder a squeeze and promised to bring back the other boys, walking out of the room feeling worse than when she went in. The moon peaked in through the hallway curtains and reminded her of the fact that it was about 3am and they were meant to be up again in 4 hours to drive to London. 

“Hey, Ringo, d’yeh think we should go back in yet?” Paul asked, his brown eyes looking up at her from where the pair sat, backs against her door. George seemed concerned, his eyebrows were furrowed and the lines in his forehead only got more prominent the longer she took to answer.

“If you like, maybe just act as if he’s asleep though, probably for the best if we just leave him alone.” George only got more crumpled at this, his nose even sporting a few wrinkles. Robin felt bad that she found it cute, considering the situation.

“‘Aight, see yeh in a few hours then.” The boys re-entered their room, but before the door could close behind them, George turned to look back at Robin, only to find a pair of blue eyes also looking back at him, soon accompanied with a deep blush and hasty door slam (on both parts). 

  
  


3 days had passed and, understandably, John’s child (a little boy named Julian, as was revealed later at a less offensive hour of the day) was all he could talk about. Whether they were eating breakfast, practicing or sitting in traffic, John always had something to say about his son. The others tried to hold their tongues, but it was hard not to shut him down when, two seconds after being herded off stage, he starts with “Wonder if Jules woulda liked that.”

The day had finally come to see the baby of the hour, and John was buzzing. When he wasn’t waxing poetic about the colour of Julian’s eyes or the shape of his nose, he was whistling like a jolly old man with his head stuck out the car window. At this point they could all afford to buy cars, but were hardly ever home to drive them anyways so the idea seemed frivolous. Compared to occasionally riding in the back of the van, Brian’s car was a luxury. 

“Alright Mr Pink-Whistle, are you gonna settle down or just crush the baby when yeh see it?” Paul said as he pinched John in the side. The older boy whacked him upside the head in retaliation, rolling his eyes at the younger’s ignorance to the situation. 

“If you’d knocked up a lass and were about to see your son, I think you’d be pretty happy too, so lay off it Macca.” Brian chimned in from the front, his head facing them as he reversed parked into the hospital's lot.

“Eppy, if I’d knocked up a girl, whistling would be the last thing on my mind.” Paul began cackling at John’s expense with the help of George, and together they ran-skipped all the way to the front doors. 

“Don’t listen to ‘em John.” Robin reassured.

“Hmm?” The girl had to scoff at John’s head up in the clouds, but smiled at his excitement nevertheless. It was a complete 180° from his attitude earlier that day and Robin assumed it was a few more hours of sleep and a few more hours to think about his impending fatherhood. The group entered the hospital and were shepherded up into the escalator and down towards Cynthia’s room, leaving Brian to wait in the foyer. Nurses and doctors turned to look as the band walked down the sanitised corridors and by the time the door shut on the private room, a small crowd had formed outside. 

“Hello, love.” John greeted his wife with a short peck on the lips, the two naturally relaxing around the other as John settled himself on the bed. The other three found spots on the hard carpet floor and watched awkwardly, waiting for their chance to hold the baby. Robin couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever find someone who would look at her the way Cynthia and John looked at eachother. She also had to force herself to not look over at George, somehow thinking about having children with a man was a more invasive daydream than just fantasizing about his face. 

“Reckon yeh’ll have kids one day Paul?” George quizzed as he stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles over each other.

“Oh yeah, probably, I mean, ‘aven’t really thought that far ahead. Haven’t got anyone to have ‘em with at the moment either.” The boy looked a bit sorry for himself, and Robin could see his gaze lingering on the small boy situated in John’s arms.

“Yer only 20 mate, give the ladies of England some time.” George replied with a playful punch to the shoulder. Paul laughed in response and seemed to put it behind him, not wanting to bring down the mood of the room. Before George could ask Robin the same question, one that would surely lay all her cards down on the table and cause her to profess whatever these feelings were that she felt whenever they made eye contact or held hands or even just sat next to each other at a table, John remembered the presence of his bandmates in the room and invited them all for a cuddle (with the baby). Her feelings for George were less than convenient, considering they spent almost everyday together, but she would just have to suck it up and play it off.

“I wanna go first, the next time I’ll hold a baby will be after I’ve pushed one out of me, so I wanna enjoy it.” Robin said, standing up hastily and moving towards the bed.

“Did we need that much detail Binny?” George joked, but never gained a smart alec comment in reply as Robin was too infatuated with the small child in her arms. His little brown eyes looked up at her and his small fist wrapped around her pointer finger, poking and toying with the silver ring that resided there. She tickled his tummy and he made a soft gurgling noise that melted her heart like butter on toast.

“Aren’t you just the cutest, huh? Much cuter than your dad.” Robin cooed towards Julian.

“Oi, give ‘im to someone else before yeh corrupt ‘im.” John said with a smile on his face. Robin was pretty sure that in this moment nothing could bring him down off cloud nine. She carefully passed the baby into George’s arms, and then immediately had to give him a lesson on holding said baby.

“Geo, he came out of the womb 3 days ago, you really think he can hold his head up by himself?”

“Dunno, never held a baby before.” 

“Really, I couldn’t tell.”

“Hey!”

The rest of the room just smiled at the oblivious pair, off in their own domestic little world that neither wanted to leave. Robin’s hand had never left from under the baby's head, and she was still using her other to play with the little boy’s hands, so they really did look like a married couple. Paul broke them out of their love-stricken stupor by loudly clearing his throat and demanded that ’baby-time’ be shared equally.

“Don’t call it that Paul, yeh sound like a pedophile.” Cynthia spoke up from her hospital bed, looking tired yet elated. The rest laughed at Paul’s expense and watched as he whispered softly to the baby, his eyes not leaving the boy’s face. 

All of a sudden, a sharp knock on the door caused all 5 heads to whip towards the sound, and the group saw an irritated doctor surrounded by nurses trying to get a look in at the band. Word must’ve spread throughout the ward that they were there. At least Cynthia would probably get treated a little bit nicer after they left. “I’ll see yeh and Jules a bit later then, love.” John said as he placed Julian back into his cot and gave Cynthia a kiss on the cheek. 

“See yeh then.” She smiled in return and gave the rest of them a sleepy wave while they were guided out of the room and back down to the foyer, where Brian sat reading a newspaper. He folded the paper and stood up, Robin noticing for the first time the way his eyes lingered on John. They all knew about his homosexual nature, but it had never occured to her before that he might love one of the boys. She was probably just reading too much into it anyway. 

“Oh, Eppy, forgot to tell yeh mate, we’ve made yeh Julian’s godfather.” John commented nonchalantly. Brain’s face seemed to buffer for a second until he could school it into the emotion of pleasant surprise, looking back for a split second as he led them out the front doors and back to the car.

“Well John, can’t say ‘m all that shocked but thank you.” Noises of protest erupted from the other two godfather candidates who were now seated in the back of the car, unable to cause any physical harm due to the restrictions of the seatbelt.

“What’s that s’posed to mean, aye? I’d be a right good godfather.” Paul exclaimed defensively.

“What about me?!” George added.

“Georgie, you almost broke his neck.” Robin said condescendingly, finding the very worked up boys quite amusing and wanting to make it last for as long as possible. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t, did I?”

“Well, I didn’t almost break it, I held him proper like a godfather.”

“But yeh’re not a godfather so-”

“I didn’t say I was now did I?”

“Well I mean-”

“Ladies,” Brian cut in, “Would you like to return to each other's necks or shall you get out of the car and go get changed for the show?” Robin hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped, too invested in the petty yet entertaining argument happening on the seats next to her. “Oh, Robin, this morning a package came for you. It’s from your mum.” She didn’t know her mum even knew what she was doing, let alone where she was staying but besides the point, she didn’t know Elsie even still cared. When she was younger, her mother hovered like a dragonfly above her head, always there to look out for her constantly ill daughter. When she started leaving to play shows at 17, it was as if a switch flipped and suddenly she wasn’t her mother’s responsibility anymore. Robin always thought that it was because her mother realised that she hadn’t really focused on much else for 17 years, distracting herself from her somewhat underwhelming quality of life by coddling her daughter. One night, they had a huge row, screaming and swearing and what not. Her stepfather Harry stayed out of it, understanding that something of this genre had been in the making since long before he stepped into the picture. 

Ever since then, her mother was somewhat of a ghost. Robin essentially lived alone in her family house, as whenever she got home they were all asleep and whenever she woke up they were out at work. On the odd occasion that all three were in the house and conscious and the same time, she would get nothing more than a good morning from Harry and an avoided gaze from Elsie. Robin stopped calling her mum when she stopped being treated like a daughter. “Well, that’s nice of her innit.” Paul said, the extended silence from the usually happy girl making everyone slightly uncomfortable.

“Oh right, yeah. Wonder what Elsie’s up to these days.” Robin replied lightly, her mind clearly lost somewhere else. The boys decided not to push the issue, understanding that sometimes family is the softest topic to talk about. 

They piled into the elevator after Robin was handed a soft brown paper package by the front desk worker. She turned it over in her hands, wondering why her mother chose now to be the time that she would rekindle their relationship. She felt something twist in her stomach as she looked over the familiar handwriting and address on the rear of the bag, and Robin willed herself not to cry. It wasn’t a sad cry, nor a happy one, just a manifestation of every emotion she’d never been able to express towards her mother for the past 3 years. “What d’yeh think it is?” George asked innocently, clearly walking on eggshells around the unusually distracted and emotional girl. 

“Dunno, hope it’s cash.” Robin quipped with a thick laugh. She quickly opened the door to her room, not objecting when George and the others came in with her. Robin decided that it was better for them to be there for her and not just her being there for herself. They sat themselves down on her single bed, George squishing up close to her side in an effort not to fall off the bed. ‘Best friends Binny’ she thought to herself, ‘You’re sitting so close because you’re best friends’. She took a deep breath, noticeably shakier than usual, and carefully ripped along the seam of the package. 

“Well, this is quite lovely isn’t it.” Soft velvet tumbled out from the bag, tufty maroon fabric slipping out onto her lap only to be joined by a small bit of notepaper. The skirt was adorned with ornamental golden buttons and seemed to be the most expensive item of clothing she’d ever owned, second only to a coat her friend gave her that she’d made last for about 5 autumns and winters before it was so threadbare she would catch a cold walking to the shops.

“Your mum’s really got a lot to say sorry for, doesn’t she.” John muttered from where he sat opposite her, admiring the billowing material along with the other boys. They all reached out to feel the skirt and (purposefully or not) left Robin to herself as she opened the piece of notepaper. Inside, there were only two lines written. 

“Saw the skirt you’ve been wearing in the papers and thought you might like a new one. - Love Mum” Robin couldn’t help but laugh. She laughed as she stood up the bed, laughed as she ripped the note paper in half and simmered down to a quiet snicker as she threw the pieces into the bin. The three boys looked at her quizzically, because to be fair, she was acting a touch insane. “Sorry lads, I think my mother’s just trying her luck.” Her bandmates continued looking at Robin with tilted heads and furrowed brows.

“What the hell d’yeh mean Ringo?” Paul spoke up.

“You were all there in the hospital, poor old Elsie’s seen us on the telly and is thinkin’ she’d probably like a new car or house or life for Christmas, so she’s tryna make nice with me. She’s had three years to write an apology, and it’s probably gonna take her another three to do it.” Robin wasn’t laughing anymore. She didn’t really feel like crying either. She wanted to have a new mother, a new father, not a drunk or a stepdad or a band manager, an actual dad. But you don’t choose your family, so she would just have to put up with what she was given. And if that was a beautiful skirt and a group of three boys that would probably take a bullet for her, then so be it. 

“Bin, yeh okay?” John asked. The three had forgotten about the skirt and were looking up at her with worry. 

“Yeah, I am. I will be, anyway. Now how about you all go back and let me put on this lovely skirt in peace, aye?” They grumbled while she shooed them out the door, George looking back one last time to silently ask if she was okay. Robin left him with a muted smile and closed the door, shimmying off her brown cords and replacing them with a pair of stockings and the new skirt, the fabric of which felt like million dollar clouds. Guilt splashed over her for a split second, wondering if it was a wanky move to keep the skirt and ignore her mother. Then again, she couldn’t think of a reason why she would ever say sorry to someone by writing ‘Your old skirt looked shit. Have you thought about considering me as your mother again?’. 

Matching maroon blazer in hand, Robin walked across the hallway and knocked on the door. Being hit with a swift dose of deja vu, George and his grinning face opened the door mid-laugh, soon dropping when he saw the girl standing on the other side. His tie was loose around his neck and his collar and hair were equally as dishevelled, clearly John and Paul had ruffed him up a bit in between them being sent out by Robin and now. His eyes still seemed concerned and locked with Robin’s, as if to ask about the skirt.

“Yeh look nice Ringo.” John said from his chair next to the window. He had his glasses on, a rarity, and seemed to be reading the back of a packet of biscuits.

“Thanks Johnny, may I ask why you’re examining a tin of digestives?” Robin quizzed, slumping down onto one of the beds. 

“Well, Georgie finished them off and I’m trying to find an address. ‘Eard someone in Tesco say that if yeh write to ‘em and say yeh found a hair or somethin’ they send yeh a couple tins for free.” John replied, the red box reflecting onto his face and making him look very jolly. Robin turned to look at George and he had the decency to look sheepish at her inquisitive expression. 

“How many were left?” She asked as George came and sat next to her. She turned towards John and in the process leant her shoulder further into George’s chest, something neither of them were opposed to. His arm came around her shoulders and began poking her knees, the likes of which were tucked up to her chest. 

“Let’s see about that, Paulie woke up and had one with his cuppa, I nabbed some on the way out this morning, so that would leave about, I dunno, 20? 25? Yer boy’s a hungry one I can tell yeh that.” Robin and George blushed in harmony, the occasion of being mistaken as a couple (or teased about it by John and Paul) never had less of an effect on them. One might ask why they never just went out together. And one might never receive an answer for that question.

“To be fair, I woke up too late for breakfast.” George defended. Robin chuckled and gave him a mocking look, one with her eyes rolled back and her mouth pushed downwards, sort of like a mutated old man. He scoffed in return and fell back on the bed, taking the smaller girl with him. They fidgeted around until both were in comfortable positions, just waiting for John to be satisfied with his address hunting so that they could leave. 

“And should I call them and ask how many biscuits are equal to a bacon and egg sandwich? Because somehow I think that it wouldn't be an answer yeh’d want to hear Geo.” John clapped back, sliding his glasses of his face and rubbing the bridge of his nose before putting the tin back down onto a small table and standing up, stretching. Paul, who Robin was only now realising had been napping for the duration of her visit, stirred from his sleep and woke up with a mop of hair all pushed to one side. 

“How about I buy another tin and we can move on, aye?” Paul murmured. Robin was impressed; either Paul was incredibly talented at picking up on conversations  _ or  _ the other two had been arguing since before Paul fell asleep (which, from the look of his crumpled suit, seemed to have been awhile).

“Sounds good. Should we, y’know,  _ go now _ ?” Robin asked semi-impatiently, her foot tapping to the rhythm of  _ From Me To You _ . It was only released that day and she wasn’t too sure about performing it, but whatever the crowd wanted they would get, and apparently the song was getting along with the UK like a house on fire. Just that morning, Paul swore he could hear a bird singing its opening tune, but then again, this was Paul. The four were soon piling into Brian’s car and then out again at the hall, a line having already formed around the corner. Robin could see some of their faces light up as they realised who was there, but this was relatively short lived as they had been guided through the front doors in a split second. 

Promptly they were seated in a dressing room with 15 minutes until the show began. Robin and George sat facing each other on a pea green couch, ankles tangled together in the aftermath of some attempt at wrestling. Paul sat facing the mirror trying to tame his hair into submission, and John had procured the biscuit tin from some Mary Poppins-esque bag and was still trying to find an address. “John, if you haven’t found it by now I don’t think yer ever going to.” Paul snapped, the annoyed grumbles from John eliciting a sharp response. 

“Just because yer willing to sacrifice dozens of biscuits to the goat over there doesn’t mean I am too.” John replied. George had seemingly accepted his new nickname of goat and was very obliging to sit and look at Robin’s smiling face instead of get involved in another biscuit-fueled argument. The two continued squabbling and Robin turned to look back at George.

“I never asked yeh, do yeh want kids?” George asked. Robin felt her face go red, not at the question but at the origin. 

“I mean, yeah one day. It’ll be a bit hard when we’ve got to play shows every night but I s’pose I’ll manage. Could probably hide it for about 4 months and then it would start showin’, then you have to think about who’ll look after ‘im when I’m gone, but yeah I think I’d like a few o’ my own. Julian was too cute, he’s made me soft.” Robin smiled thinking about the little boy, the grin faltering when she looked over and saw John hitting Paul on the shin with the metallic box. He wasn’t ready, that wasn’t a secret, and she couldn’t help but see the scared boy from only a few days ago in John right now. Either John or Julian was going to have to do a lot of growing up fast, and Robin couldn’t help but feel like it was going to be the latter. “Anyway, what about you Georgie?” She shook herself out of her daze and trained her eyes back on George, the boy looking crestfallen at her focus on the older guitarist. 

“I think yeh’d be a great mum.” The red on Robin’s cheeks deepened even further.

“I meant, do you want kids?”

“Oh, uh yeah, I know, I think I do. Only one or two, but it would be nice. Could teach ‘em guitar.” He seemed to be rambling to cover his tracks, but Robin wouldn’t forget what he said. How could she, after growing up with an over controlling primary carer and two other parents who weren’t really counted as such, it felt nice to receive that kind of complement. She was, in lack of a better phrase, positively beaming. 

“You know what George?”

“What?”

“I’ll think you’ll be a proper good dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ommmgg they were Best Friends??!!
> 
> lol sorry next chapter will be like 100% domestic stuff i Promiseeee, im tryna not just do every chapter as car show car hotel sleep lol
> 
> also i just wanna make them kisss bu i have a plan and it's still a ways off so hang in there
> 
> as always let me know if there are any spelling/grammar things and also if you liked it :))


	8. she (really) loves you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and they were room mates!
> 
> oh my god they were Room Mates.
> 
> cynthia and robin being Mothers in london

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our 2 oblivious faves still being stoopid, hopefully a bit less??

**1 July, 1963**

A mid-afternoon glare reflected off of the plates Robin was scrubbing down, and she considered whether or not her life would be much different living in a country with real sunshine. The fact that it was the middle of summer made little impact on the grey skies of London, and sadly the same could be said for the weather. The wind would still float in through the window and send goosebumps up her legs, but for the most part Robin could get away without wearing stockings under her skirt and only wear one layer of wool when she went out. The soapy water was turning her fingers pruny, but it was better than the alternative of bright purple rubber gloves that reached past her elbows. They had been provided by the hotel, and none of the band wanted to come near them with a 10 foot pole. This had little effect on the boys seeing as Robin was consistently finding herself stood at the sink, elbow deep in a sink of sudsy water. It didn’t help that one of them would probably drop a knife into the basin and end up slicing their palm open in the process of retrieving it, so maybe it was for the best. 

Despite the safety hazard of anyone in the flat but her doing the washing up, Robin cursed the day they decided to all live together in the hotel apartment instead of traveling to and from London (very separately). It wasn’t that she was sick of them, quite the opposite really. Her feelings for George, whatever they might be, were growing more and more unavoidable. She wouldn’t admit to herself that she saw him as anything more than a friend, but subconsciously she could tell that he meant something more to her than just a bandmate. Living in such close quarters meant that she saw him when she woke up, his tired form usually sitting upright wrapped in the overly-fluffy duvet as he blinked away sleep. He had an awful habit of sleeping without a shirt on and would ask for Robin to scratch his topless back when he’d slept in an awkward position with the pillow touching him at just the wrong angle. As her nails scraped along the valley between his shoulder blades while the kettle boiled, she often had the fleeting urge to flatten her palm and pull him closer, but she stopped herself every time. The band was just starting to get somewhere, she wasn’t about to ruin it in a flurry of sexual frustration followed by a piteous rejection. 

Because that was just the cherry on top, wasn’t it? There was absolutely no way George would let anything happen. He was too responsible, too nervous, and probably didn’t even feel the same way. And yet, even with this floating at the forefront of her mind whenever they were in a room together, Robin still convinced herself it was nothing. George was her best friend, her confidant, the one person she knew she could tell anything, so maybe it wasn’t hiding if there were no feelings to hide in the first place. “One o’ these days yeh’ve just gotta let the plates stack up until Paul gets sick of it an’ does it himself.” John said, breaking her out of her haze. He sauntered into the room with baby Julian on his hip, still in his pyjamas with tufts of auburn hair sticking up in every which way. 

“And not you?” Robin replied.

“God no, I’m a rockstar baby, rockstar’s don’t wash up.” He said, laying the Elvis impersonation on thickly. He deftly managed to put two slices of bread in the toaster and bounce his child up and down gently, humming  _ She Loves You _ under his breath. They were due to record it that afternoon, but seeing as John had seemingly only just gotten out of bed (for longer than 30 minutes anyway) Robin figured they would just show up when they showed up. It always stressed her out, never wanting to let someone down, but the rest of them always appeared to be fairly laid back when it came to missing things. Speaking of being late, just as John’s toast popped up the phone began to ring, and Robin shuffled over to answer it. Her hands were still pruny but fairly dry and she managed to pick up the phone without dripping soap droplets on the dial. 

“Hello, this is Robin Starkey.” She answered professionally. They’d gotten in trouble for picking up the phone from reception in the midst of bickering, even though Brian struggled to keep a straight face as the elderly hotel supervisor recounted some of the things she’d heard them yell towards each other. 

“Hi Ringo, it’s Brian.” The man also sounded like he’d just woken up. Apparently Sunday nights were the new Friday. “I was going to apologise for being disorganised, but it seems you’re still at home too anyway. We’ve obviously missed the original slot so it’s been moved back to 5o’clock. Make sure you tell the lads, and remind them early to start getting ready. I’ll have someone come and pick you up at 4:30.”

“Very professional of you Brian, no more lifts to school eh?” Robin retorted. 

“Somehow I thought you might have liked it better, apparently I was wrong.” She could hear his smile from the other side of the phone. 

“Well, we’ll see you there Eppy.”

“See you then.” 

“Gabhsgaba” The phone had only just been placed down when Julian began babbling from his spot in his high chair. Robin assumed that Cynthia had already fed him as he didn’t seem hungry (that screech was in a different realm by itself), and she couldn’t smell anything particularly gag-inducing, so it appeared that he was making noise for the sake of making noise, and it was quite cute. John was still assembling his baked beans on toast, so Robin picked up the almost-3-month-old and gave him a bit of attention. She still needed to rest his head against her chest, but his legs were kicking up a storm as she rocked him back and forth, dancing around the small common area. Walking over to the middle of the living room, Robin set him down on a little rug that had been unofficially designated as Julian’s learn-to-walk mat. He wasn’t nearly ready to start tottering around, but he was starting to lift up his head for a few seconds at a time and giggle at the little bees and flowers printed beneath him. He’d started laughing a few days before and Robin didn’t think she’d ever seen a whole room of people more invested in such a tiny child in her whole life. Every two seconds it was ‘Jules, look at Paulie’ or ‘Come on, give us a laugh’. Toys were scattered throughout the apartment, and despite the fact that the entire flat was becoming Julian’s playground, they all knew it couldn’t last forever. His crying wouldn’t just wake up the parents, but the 3 other innocent bystanders one thin wall away from the young family. 

“Stop tryna steal my child.” John said with a mouth full of beans and bread as he sat on the couch to supervise the goings on of his baby. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it Johnny, I’m only in it for the fun bits, isn’t that right Jules?” Robin put on the girls-speaking-to-babies-and-dogs voice towards the end and she looked up to see John with a sarcastic look on his face, still managing to tease her with no words and cheeks full of breakfast. Well, lunch? It was 3o’clock. “Oh, forgot to say, we’ve gotta be ready to go by 4, they’re coming to pick us up to go to the studio.” John rolled his eyes and swallowed before replying.

“Yeah right, we’re probably due there at 6, yer a mad woman.”

“Do you know what time we were meant to be there today?” She ignored his stab and raised a brow expectantly. 

“Well, no, but-” Robin cut him off again and returned to the baby who was still babbling for attention.

“See, I have my reasons.” 

“Reason for what?” George said as he walked in through the door with Paul on his heels. They’d gone for a walk to get groceries and clearly had to run back to the hotel by the looks of their dishevelled hair and red cheeks. Robin had to stop herself from melting at the sight of George’s smiling, pink face and instead get up to relieve them of some of the shopping. 

“For being organised.” Robin replied matter-of-factly. “Be ready to leave and record by 4, please boys.” George came into the small kitchenette to help her unpack the food, putting 4 slices of toast in the toaster as he did so. “Hungry Geo?” Robin said with a cheeky smile.

“S’not all for me, god. Yeh probably haven’t eaten since brekkie, knowin’ you.” Robin’s heart back-flipped and he grinned at her, canines and all. 

“S’pose you’re not wrong. I was preparing to leave at 1:30 but clearly that didn’t happen.”

“Where were yeh meant to be goin’?” He replied with a clueless look on his face, and she could only meet it with a disapproving gaze. “What?” George asked incredulously.

“Hey Paul, do you know where I would’ve been going at 1:30 this afternoon?” Robin yell-asked into the living room. 

“Should I?” He yelled back and Robin could only roll her eyes at their disorganised nature.

“Well, where was it?” George asked again. 

“To record? Does that ring any bells?” Robin asked rhetorically, reaching up to the top shelf of the cupboard and failing miserably. She jumped to try and hoist up the bag of flour, but it was a) too heavy and b) too high up for that to make any difference. George grabbed it out of her hands from behind her and put it on the shelf easily, his chest pressed up against her back. 

“No bells here, love.” He said casually, as if that entire experience didn’t make his heart want to run a marathon. Which it did, but Robin didn’t need to know that. George quickly spun around when he heard the toast pop up and tried to forget the feeling of her against him, even if it was only for a second. She was clearly not interested, she’d only ever treated him like a best friend and it hurt him everyday. Sometimes he would think she would stare at him or say things that might be interpreted otherwise, but those moments were so few and far between that sometimes he thought he was just making them up. 

“What would you do without me, huh?” Robin said smugly as she jumped up onto the bench top next to where George was buttering the toast. 

“Be late more, probably.” He said slyly. She flicked him on the ear and pinched his arm, both dissolving into soft laughter. She rested her head on his shoulder, facing away from his face but looking out of the kitchen and into the living room at John and Cynthia (who had woken up shortly after John) playing with Julian as Paul did the crossword in the newspaper. Robin felt so comfy, so happy and relaxed, she wanted to put the flat into a little glass jar and keep it forever. “Yeh want marmite, marmalade or jam? Ringo?” George asked, not wanting to move his head to the side. He probably couldn’t handle their mouths being that close together without doing something he might regret. 

“Hmm? Yeah I’ll have jam thanks.” Robin was broken out of her stupor and slid down off the counter, then grabbing her plate of toast and taking a bite. George always lathered spread on thick, but after Robin complained about having a mouth full of butter every bite she took, he learnt to make her toast just how she liked it. They went and sat on the couch with the others and looked at Julian who had now been passed to Paul. Without visuals, it would be difficult to know which one of the boys was the baby.

“If Julian doesn’t learn to talk properly I know who I’m blamin’” Cynthia said from her spot next to John. 

“Oi, I’m just speakin’ his language, like.” Paul said defensively. 

“Mm, we can tell.” George chimed in with a mouth full of toast. 

“You’re no better.” Robin said, tapping his chin. 

“I’m the youngest, Jules and I have a connection.” He replied, still providing a full view of his lunch to the rest of the group. 

“Anyway, it’s time for ‘im to go to bed. Say bye to uncle Paulie.” John cooed as he picked up his child. 

“Ashbahmahbub.” Julian bubbled happily. 

“Close enough.” The group chuckled at the little boy who was carried back into Cynthia and John’s room and already seemed to be falling asleep on his dad’s shoulder. 

“When are yeh lot heading off then?” Cynthia asked as she gathered up the plates that lay on the coffee table. Robin got up to help but was shooed back down. 

“About 4.” Robin replied, eyeing off the clock that read 3:45pm. Cynthia and her shared a knowing smile as George migrated over to Paul to help finish his crossword, the two women fully aware no one was leaving the flat until 4:30, which was exactly what Robin had planned for. She went into her room and exchanged the track pants she was wearing for her velvet skirt that she was determined to get its worth for. Not the worth in money, as it had been a gift (of sorts), but knowing that she might be photographed in it and that her mother might see, having received no reply or indication that Robin cared was priceless. She grabbed her tweed jacket in case someone had put the air-con on in the studio and came back into the living room. Luckily, as they had gone out a few hours before, George and Paul were dressed. She would give him some slack, as he was a father, but John was most definitely still in his pyjamas. 

“Hey Bin, before you get your knickers in a knot, I’m putting on me trousers right now.” John said from behind his bedroom door. 

“Yeah, alright, as long as they’re not the ones with coffee on ‘em.” Robin heard soft swearing from behind the door and the sound of a zip, and she smiled to herself. 

“Ringo, office worker, 9 letters.” Paul asked, him and George puzzling over the newspaper.

“Uh…” She stalled as she spelt out the word she was thinking with her fingers. “Secretary.” The two muttered the letters under their breath as they counted it out over the boxes.

“That was well quick, yeh been practicing?” Paul joked. 

“You remember I was one, right?” Robin said somewhat accusatory. 

“Ah yeah, forgot ‘bout that.” He replied, already focused on the next clue. Robin practiced her drumming for  _ She Loves You _ and  _ I’ll Get You _ on her legs as they waited for John to finish up. It was about another 10 minutes before he emerged, looking slightly frustrated and worked up. 

“Come on then, let’s go.” He said as he grabbed his jacket off one of the couches and waited at the door. The other 3 looked at each other in confusion as they slipped on their shoes, trying to make small talk while they wondered about John’s strange mood. The tension in the elevator was palpable, and Robin decided to just bite the bullet. 

“You right John?” 

“Fuckin’ Cyn, she’s always on about movin’ out, as if I have the bloody time to find ‘er a fuckin’ house to live in.” Paul, George and Robin looked at each other once again, not really knowing how to help their friend. 

“Well um, on the 4th we’re seein’ the Stones, but we could always ask Brian to call up a few places, see if they-” 

“No, forget it, it’s fine.” John said sharply, cutting off Robin. He quickly moved onto the subject of recording, talking about parts of the song he wanted to move around and some of the harmonies and other various things to distract himself. The others wanted to help, but it was hard to help someone who didn’t want it and refused to acknowledge he needed it. By the next morning the pair would be back to the matrimonial bliss they’d been living in, even if it was a facade to some degree. Robin was an optimist, no doubt. She thought if two people loved each other enough they could make anything work. She hoped that it was the case for John and Cynthia. 

Within the hour, John’s sour mood had been forgotten and they were well into recording  _ She Loves You _ . There was nothing out of the ordinary, just waiting patiently for Martin to finish chatting to John and Paul about the bits and bobs they were thinking about chucking in, mainly things about harmonies. It was also quite a bit of procrastination, as none of them felt particularly energetic or enthusiastic about recording. “Alright, let’s get started then.” Martin said as he put his headphones around his neck and let them file into the studio. Robin made a bee-line for her kit at the back and slipped behind the soundproofing walls. She couldn’t see the rest of the band, but she always made sure that in her mix, Paul’s bass was the loudest to keep her on track. This recording wouldn’t have vocals, to be honest it was mainly just to get Robin’s track down, but it was good to get the feel of the song before going in and nit-picking. And did they like to nit-pick. 

About half way through the session, they’d done both the rhythm recording for  _ She Loves You  _ and  _ I’ll Get You _ , and now Robin sat next to Martin as each boy exchanged places in and out of the room. Realistically she could’ve gone home by now, but it was interesting to hear how their ideas developed over the course of a few hours, especially as she’d never been too hot on the idea of song-writing. It was relaxing that way, she would listen to a song and fill in the blanks with the drums, not having to worry about words or notes or any of the things that made George and Paul occasionally wake her up in the night as they rustled around for a pen and paper in the dark. 

Brian came into the room just as they’d finished up all the bits and pieces for the A side, including a cowbell from Robin. She’d felt a bit silly standing there with a stick and a bell, only hitting it every chorus, but it did sound pretty cool at the end, despite not having been mixed yet. “All goin’ well?” Brian asked. 

“It’ll be bigger than  _ Please Please _ Eppy, lemme tell yeh that.” John said, turning around on the spinny chair he’d taken from Robin. 

“It already is, 200 000 pre orders and countin’.” They all grinned at each other, even Martin. None of them were stupid; obviously they were famous, but hearing numbers that large was vomit-level excitement. “Anyway, I’ve got somethin’ else for you to do, give you a break from this room.” Brian went over to a cupboard and opened it to reveal four clothing bags hanging on a rack. Robin immediately knew which one was hers, it’s stark white fabric and cursive lettering stood out against the other three black bags. 

“Yeh should consider a career in magic, Eppy. That was real smooth like.” Paul said as the group walked over and took their individual bags. The person who’d named them hadn’t even bothered to label hers. 

“Terry’s set up down the hall, you can just get changed in the bathroom.” Brian said, coaxing them out the door. The four split up, and Robin headed into the bathroom, not bothering to go into a stall. In Abbey Road studios at 8o’clock at night, there weren’t likely to be many other women out and about. In the bag there was a collarless blazer, a white shirt and tie and a matching grey skirt. Knowing the Eppy, he’d probably taken one of the boy’s suits to a tailor and asked for a female equivalent. One of the first things she did after joining the band was get her measurements taken by a tailor, and after seeing some older photos of the band she could see why. Brian was clean cut and loved them all looking uniform, and as far as he was concerned, being a teddy boy wasn’t exactly a uniform. 

Robin left the bathroom and headed back down the hall, her clothes folded up in her arms. She wasn’t awfully familiar with the location of the male bathroom, but she didn’t need to be as they were all already standing outside the door of the photographer’s makeshift studio. “God I need a cigarette.” John groaned with his head leant back on the wall. 

“All in good time Johnny, all in good time.” Brian said, patting him on the chest and walking past into the room. 

“It’s ‘bout that delayed shit. The longer yeh wait the better it is.” Paul said as they walked into a room filled with cameras, props and one large white sheet. 

“Is tha’ what yeh told yerself before yeh pulled a bird, Macca?” George joked and Paul punched him on the arm in retaliation. 

“Alright lads, if I could just get you to stand in a row, do whatever you want. Try and make it look natural, like you’re just standing around.” The directions were vague but all of them had become accustomed to being photographed, and all of them except George were fairly attention seeking and confident anyway (well, at least when someone was watching). Robin was tempted to stand behind the camera with her arms crossed because of the ‘lads’ direction, but she knew it was just a slip of the tongue and he was probably generally quite a nice person.

They shuffled out onto the white backdrop and stood in a line, Paul and John facing towards each other slightly and George and Robin doing the same. All of them crossed their arms in slightly different ways to create an interesting but still simple photo. It wasn’t awfully exciting or risqué, but it got the job done. 

“George, keep your legs like that but put a hand out onto Ringo’s shoulder.” The two looked at each other in an indescribable way as George stuck his arm out awkwardly onto her shoulder. It felt a bit unnatural, but when they turned back to the camera with bright smiles on their faces the photographer seemed pleased. After about half an hour of posing, laughing, getting scolded and more posing, it was time to go back to the studio.

“Will any of you be annoyed if I head back? There’s a pillow at home with my name on it.” Robin said as they walked back down the hallway. 

“Alright posho, don’t want to deprive any beauty sleep.” John said in his best London-English. They all chuckled and Robin gathered up the bag with her former outfit inside, as well as her drumsticks. 

“Haven’t heard that one in a while, am I startin’ to get back the scouse?” The boys laughed properly at that, with George then following in his accent fit for royalty. “ _ Am I starting to get back my scouse, your Highness?” _

“Shut up.” Robin joked, keeping eye contact with George for a little bit too long before saying her farewell and leaving. She wasn’t lying when the thought of a pillow made her want to nap right then and there in the taxi.

“George, yeh have somethin’ yeh want to tell us?” Paul asks as the three of them sit in the recording room for harmonies, waiting for Martin and Brian to finish talking.

“What yeh talkin’ about Macca?” George said, genuinely confused. He had a sinking feeling that they’d waited for this moment to ask him (see also: after Robin had left).

“Don’t be daft, yeh fancy Ringo, George. Just admit it.” John said with a bright smile on his face. George tried to be subtle and double check that nothing was recording, but this wasn’t missed by the two eagle-eyed interrogators. 

“I’ll be as daft as I bloody well like. I don’t fancy ‘er.” He snapped back defensively.

“Alright, alright. If this changes yeh mind though, I think it’s mutual.” 

“Of course it’s mutual, yeh’d have to be blind not to see it.”

“And that’s coming from you. Yer blind as a bat.”

“Macca, I would know with no ears nor eyes nor knowing George and Robin nor bein’ in a band with ‘em. It’s disgusting how soft they are.”

“Look lads, I love ‘er, but not like that, right? Just, stop talkin’ about it.” George cut in, interrupting what had become the John-and-Paul’s-commentary-on-George’s-upsettingly-sad- love-life show. 

“Whatever yeh say mate, we were just tryna speed up the process.” John said as he put on his headphones. 

“He’s got a point, yeh’ve been starin’ at her like a lost puppy for almost a year.” Paul and John’s observations made George shrink back into his shell a little bit. Did he really like Robin? I mean, he always  _ felt _ something for her, but could it actually mean anything? The one thing he couldn’t stop thinking about was the fact that John thought it was mutual. Whatever this was. He thought Robin felt it too. That whenever he walked into a room, she felt like every piece had fallen into place, as if they were all right where they were meant to be, because that’s how he felt about her. She was the person he needed by his side for life, but wasn’t that just a best friend? Could she feel the same and only want to be friends?

When George returned home with the boys and went to bed, he couldn’t help but linger on Robin’s sleeping face. He’d made up his mind. He did fancy her, and it fucking scared him. It scared him that she wouldn’t feel the same, that it would destroy the band, that it would destroy him. It scared him so much that all he wanted to do was put a fire blanket over his feelings and stamp them out. Because as much as it scared him, George wanted Robin in his life, in whatever way that might be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> georgie honey if only you knew
> 
> literally Ready to be out of the mutual pining and im writing this bullshit


	9. when in new york

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> new york + mutual pining + no supervision
> 
> what could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is possibly my favourite chapter yet, enjoy!

**September 16, 1963**

“Thank fuck we’re here, that lady at the front desk kept lookin’ at us funny.” 

“She’s just in love with you Georgie, you’d best be getting used to it.” Robin placed her suitcase down in the corner of the room and slipped off her shoes, flopping back onto the bed like a ragdoll. The group had been given a 2 week holiday and, considering John and Paul had their own plans, they’d decided to take a trip to New York. Jokingly on the plane they’d started calling it  _ George and Ringo’s Big Day Out _ , then  _ Big Weekend _ , then  _ George and Ringo On The Run _ , then  _ George and Ringo Escape From EMI _ , and the list goes on. 11 hours in the sky will do that to a person.

“I doubt she was in love with me, yeh know we’ve technically got no music here?” George said as he slipped his coat off and turned on the heating, frosty autumn air trickling through every nook and cranny. 

“She might’ve just been in love with your face, some have been known to say you’re attractive, surprising as it may be.” 

“Surprising to who, you or me?” George smiled wide at his own joke and joined Robin on her bed, producing a foldable map from his back pocket and a red biro. They figured as they’d shared a room for the past few months it would be fine sharing one now. Plus, seeing as not as many people here knew who they were, they could get away with the scandal of being seen entering a hotel together. 

“This really is turning into  _ George and Ringo Escape From EMI _ , isn’t it?” Robin said as she watched George unfold the large map between them. It showed all 5 boroughs and a large red circle about where George thought the hotel was. Unluckily for them, the Ritz-Carlton didn’t exactly provide low-budget tourist materials, which was exactly what they came to do.

“We’re not escaping, we’re...taking a break from the wheel.” George muttered as he tried to read the map’s incredibly small print.

“What does that even mean?”

“Dunno, just sounded distinguished, like.” He looked up at her with the same smile on his face, and it seemed as if it was never coming off his face. He was always quite happy, but never this much. It was a bit scary. 

“Well, we’ve got two weeks so you don’t have to wear me out.” Robin didn’t understand why he went silent until she saw his red cheeks and realised where his mind had taken her words and ran to. Instantly, she over analysed every move she made, wondering if it was giving off the energy that she fancied him. Because she did, no doubt about it. But he didn’t need to know that. 

“I’m just gonna, uh, have a shower, you know, uh, before dinner.” Robin stuttered out as she gathered up her clothes and toiletries bag and backed off into the shower. George stuffed his head into the sheets (making sure to move the map first) and groaned softly to himself. Of course on the first night he had to go and make her uncomfortable, what was wrong with him. He couldn’t keep it in his pants for literally 5 minutes. While lying on the bed trying to conjure up every single thing he’d ever done wrong in his whole life concerning Robin that led to this moment, the girl in question turned the shower on cold and tried to get her own red flush to cool off. 

“Hey Bin, do yeh wanna go to this French place for dinner? I heard someone talkin’ about it at the cab rank, thought it might be nice and fancy, like.” Robin could hardly hear the boy through the sound of the water, but her heart re-emerged from the pit of her stomach when she heard his voice. Maybe he didn’t think she was making moves on him after all. 

“Sure, what’s it called?” The water shut off and now all that was between them was the door. George tried not to let his mind wonder to what lay behind it as he leant on the door frame.

“Lay, uh, Caruh-vel?”

“Le Caravelle, I think you mean.”

“Uh yeah, how’d you know that.” 

“I read my travel books carefully, gets me amped up for the trip.” At that she swung open the door and found herself far too close to George for what was appropriate in friendship. She looked at his eyes, then his mouth, and he looked at her eyes, then her mouth, and both of them were too wrapped up in the little world of each other to realise that maybe this wasn’t such a grand idea. Despite the deep feelings they both felt for each other, maybe this was possibly the worst decision they would ever make (besides becoming musicians, which did happen to work out). Just as they were about to seal their fate, lips millimeters away, a loud knock sounded at the door.

“I’ll uh, I’ll get that.” The shy George that hadn’t been seen around Robin since the year before had re-emerged, completely replacing the boy from only a few minutes prior. 

“Good evening Mr Harrison, I realised after your long flight that you might be quite tired and how inconsiderate it was for me to not offer you a room service menu before.” Neither of them had ever seen this man before. “Feel free to ring the number when you’re ready and I’ll have it brought up straight away.” The man had the accent of a true blood New Yorker that was trying to sound more sophisticated by softening his Rs, when all it really did was make him sound like a bit of a lunatic. 

“And you said no one was in love with you, eh?” Robin teased from the bathroom where she combed out her hair. Brushing over close calls had seemed to work for them in the past, so she would make it work now, even if all she wanted to do was bunch up her hands in the front of his shirt and kiss him like he was a dying man.

“Yeh didn’t see him anywhere before, did yeh?”

“No, don’t worry.”

“Good, thought I was goin’ mental for a second there.”

“Was he dressed like the monkeys from the Wizard of Oz?”

“How’s that?”

“You know, little round hat with a epaulette jacket, real posh like.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen that film.” 

“You what now?” The whole conversation had been taking place with Robin in the bathroom and George once again circling things in red on his map. He didn’t think it was all that bad he’d never seen the Wizard of Oz, came out after he was born so it didn’t really matter to him. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen the Wizard of Oz.” She came around the corner and began to put on her boots, and George looked at the clock and realised it was almost half 8, so he should probably get a move on too.

“Yeh sound like my old English teacher, real posh like, was always surprised when we ‘adn’t read this that or the other.” 

“The fact that you went to school much longer than I ever did never fails to surprise me, Geo.” George gave her a bit of a glare, but couldn’t keep a straight face long enough to give any feeling behind it. “Well, you best get dressed or I’ll be eatin’ frog legs without you.” Robin pulled the map over to her bed and looked at everything he’d circled. Empire State Building, Statue of Liberty, the Met, MOMA, Lincoln Center, it was all very exciting. 

“How’s the plan? Everythin’ up to yer book’s standards?” George said as tied up his laces. Before she could reply her stomach gurgled incredibly loudly, and she looked up at him with a sheepish smile as they both laughed. “I’d be surprised if our neighbours didn’t hear that one, jesus, what’ve yeh got in there?” 

“Clearly not much. Shall we depart, Monsieur?”

“We shall, Mademoiselle.” 

The restaurant was only a few streets away and already, that was enough for Robin to fall in love. The buildings were tall and the girls were beautiful and every street corner smelt of warm food and cigarettes. She didn’t mind the smoke, because it probably masked the smell of some much worse things living in the city. 

“Bonsoir Monsieur, Madame, do you have a reservation?” A man with a thick French accent asked as they walked inside. The warm air enveloped both of them and Robin felt her face defrost a bit. She was a bit disappointed though, George’s cute pink nose would soon return to its usual shade and he wouldn’t sniffle every few seconds while he talked. 

“I’m very sorry, but we can’t seat you without a booking.” George’s face visibly dropped and Robin’s dropped with it. He seemed so excited on the way over, as if the road bumps in the hotel had never even happened. 

“Uh, I understand sir. Have a good evening.” 

They were just about to exit when one of the waitresses exclaimed, “Are you two from the Beatles?” She wasn’t overly loud so it wasn’t exceptionally embarrassing, but George still went mute for a second or two as the eyes surrounding them now had a laser focus.

“Yes, we are, would you like something signed?” Robin asked diplomatically as George remained somewhat frozen in place.

“Oh, just let me serve this and I’ll be right back. Thank you so much!” Robin gave George a little smile and squeezed his hand, hopefully making him feel a little bit more comfortable. Usually in these situations, John would do his best to charm the person’s pants off and then leave them high and dry, but he wasn’t there for that tonight. Plus, Robin was incredibly chuffed at the fact they’d been recognised by an American. The girl sped-walked back with a napkin that looked to have been stolen from a table. It was cloth, so Robin hesitated as she was handed the pen.

“Are you sure I can sign this? I don’t wanna get you in trouble, love.” The girl waved it off.

“It’s fine, I’ve got another job lined up and was planning on quitting soon anyway. This can be my souvenir.” She beamed brightly at Robin and George, and Robin could see the man from the front desk giving them a side eye every few seconds as he hurriedly scribbled into his booking list. The two signed the napkin before asking for the girl’s name. 

“Nancy, n-a-n-c-y.” Robin was very tempted to say that she knew how to spell Nancy, but was well aware how their British humour could be interpreted in America. They’d been warned by Brian that if they were to be recognised, they should be polite and try not to offend anyone. So far, so good.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it George?” 

“I think my heart stopped beating for a second.”

“How on earth do you stay calm on stage then?”

“I’ve got a guitar, ‘aven’t I?” 

“You’ve got me, I’m about guitar sized.”

“Yep, 4 feet tall and tightly strung.”

“That was uncalled for.” 

“Monsieur, Madame, I have a table for you now, if you’d like to sit down.” The pair spun around and shot a smile to the waitress from before who they could see had just told the man who they were. She seemed to melt a little bit on the inside and Robin couldn’t help but relate. That’s how she felt whenever George smiled at her, anyway. “The menu tonight is a choice of boeuf bourguignon, confit de canard and coq au vin, would you like a red or white with your dinner?”

Both looked at each other like a pair of deer in some very bright headlights as George managed to get out a quiet, “Red, thank you.” Not that either of them really understood the difference. If you drank enough, you got drunk, that was all Robin usually cared about when drinking alcohol. “Did yeh understand what any of that bloke was sayin’?” George asked quietly as another, younger man came and folded the napkins over their laps.

“Not a clue, I think he said beef? We’re the European ones here, we should be a bit better than this.” 

“Well, whatever it is it’ll be good, so I guess it doesn’t really matter.” 

“All food is good food to you, Georgie.” He grinned at her and they sunk into comfortable conversation, occasionally interrupted by wine refills or promises of more food. The soft hum of life around them was enough to fill the background but not so much that they couldn’t focus solely on one another, laughing and drinking and eating and talking. Before it felt like any time had gone by at all, the waiter came by to collect their plates and glasses and to very politely tell them to leave. Robin grabbed George’s hand to look at his watch and saw that it was almost 12:30, but despite it being the middle of the night she couldn’t imagine going home. 

“Yeh want to head back?” George said, still adjusting his coat. One of the lapels was sticking straight up, and Robin reached up to tuck it back. They maintained eye contact without moving, still standing outside the restaurant, before Robin remembered he’d asked her something. 

“Oh, I don’t really want to go home yet. It’s New York, surely there’s something to do in the middle of the night.” George looked up to the sky as if it would give him the answers, when his eyebrows lifted up and he seemed to have had an idea. 

“Fancy a trip up the Empire State?” 

“Is it still open?”

“There are lights on, aren’t there?”

The elevator rose higher and higher, Robin could feel her ears popping and she didn’t want to move in case it disrupted the elevator. They were the only 2 in the elevator, and suddenly they no longer had anything left to talk about. All she wanted to do was watch him whistle along to the soft jazz music and do a little dance, and all George wanted to do was wrap her up in a hug and make sure she knew he wouldn’t let the elevator kill her. She was quaking in her boots, to put it lightly. 

The doors opened and as soon as they stepped out, it was like they were in another world. The lights flickered across the city, cars drove up and down, just as busy as the day time. The large square of central park was stark back against the star-like buildings and there was no one else up there but them. 

“C’mon Bin, I wanna go outside.” George grabbed her hand and walked outside with her, not letting go once they were both stood against the glass outside. It was all that separated them from the ground below, but Robin still felt safe with George’s hand in hers. 

“Don’t you just feel tiny, Geo?”

“I feel like I’m on top of the world.” Robin stepped back from the window and looked at George for a few seconds. It was like watching a little boy go on his first ride at the fair, she hadn’t seen him so relaxed in months. He turned around and approached her, taking both hands in his. 

“What’s this all about then?” She asked, swinging their arms between them. 

“Bin, do yeh...well, I don’t really know how to say this but...when we’re together do yeh feel, like, do yeh feel happy?” Robin raised an eyebrow at him and squeezed his hands tighter. The look in his eyes was intense, and despite not knowing what he was feeling she thought she might be feeling the same. 

“Of course I feel happy Geo, you’re my favourite person in the whole world.” He smiled, but it seemed bittersweet. 

“Do yeh think, if yeh get a lad, yeh know, would yeh like him more than me?” 

“George, what are you tryna tell me? Whatever it is, you can tell me.” A part of her hoped and longed that the words were going to be that he loved her, or that he would kiss her and not say anything at all. 

“Bin, I uh, I don’t want yeh to have a lad, I just...I want teh be yeh lad, yeh know?” 

“I think I would like that. I would like you to be my lad very much.” She giggled at his way of phrasing it and he laughed as well. 

“That was stupid, I’m sorry.”

“I know how you can make it up to me.” Robin said in a sing-song voice, wiggling her body closer to George’s. He smiled at her and leant down, no longer anything to interrupt them or scare them off. He tilted her chin up and connected their mouths, the rest of the world fading into the background. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested her fingers in his hair at the back of his neck. He held her around the waist and didn’t let go, not even when both of them slowly pulled back. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since the second I saw yeh.”

“Feeling’s mutual, Georgie.” Robin rested her head on his chest and they gently swayed back and forth. Time had seemed suspended for the whole night, but it was especially loose in that moment when both were given a little shock as one of the employees knocked from the inside window and motioned for them to come back inside. The clock on the wall read 2o’clock, so to be fair it was probably wise that they leave to go home. Despite being wrapped up in the New York City vibrance, the travel exhaustion had finally set in and both were drifting off in the taxi ride home. 

Finally Robin could give into everything she’d wanted to do so badly for the past few months, from leaning her head on George’s shoulder in the cab to hugging him tightly in the elevator and holding his hand down the hallway. They didn’t speak because they didn’t need to, they were just taking each other in, one second at a time. 

George took a shower while Robin sat on her bed and read her book, but it was hard to concentrate when the boy she’d been pining over was hers. He was all hers and he was just in the next room. 

After a long discussion about what they wanted to do the next day, the lights were turned off and both tried to fall asleep. It shouldn’t have been hard, considering the length they’d been travelling for and how late they’d stayed out, but Robin couldn’t stop her thoughts about George from running overtime. She didn’t want to be clingy or annoying or scare him off before they’d really even started, but staring at the ceiling wasn’t helping her mind slow down one bit. 

Tentatively, Robin slipped out of bed and padded over the couple of metres to George’s bed. Clearly he hadn’t been able to fall asleep either, because as soon as she began lifting up the fluffy hotel duna, he sped up the process and shuffled back to make some room. 

“Just couldn’t get enough, could yeh?” George said in his soft, sleepy voice as he wrapped his arms around her smaller frame. Her only response was a content hum, and she drifted off to sleep with the feeling of his heartbeat in her ears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna hold out for a little longer but i physically couldnt and im not sorry about it


End file.
